The Quill Carriers, A Mabinogi Story
by CypherPen
Summary: In an Erinn on the brink of war, three Milletians join others in an exclusive secret society established by a mysterious benefactor to combat an unknown threat and create a brighter future. However, in the tangled web of ancient secrets, hidden agendas, and intrigue, they soon learn that nothing is as it seems, few people can be trusted, and their enemies aren't what they expected.


**The Quill Carriers: A Mabinogi Story**

**Chapter 1: The First Stroke Drawn**

**Disclaimer: I own none of the works belonging to the author(s) and game designer(s) employed by Nexon and devCat, the makers of Mabinogi, neither do I own any of the characters, factions, monsters, and places inside said media, save for those imagined and created by me.**

**This fanfiction contains explicit description of gore and violence, strong language, and adult themes and may not be suitable for all readers.**

~~"_If you seek to understand existence itself then imagine the world of Erinn as a book, my child. Even on the very first page, the first paragraph began with a word and every word started with a letter, all birthed by the very first line drawn. Likewise, every creature, hero, villain, location, and event all started with the gods themselves willing the most basic elements into existence. You see, even the grandest things all began with a single act."~~ _-Duncan.

In the darkness, a sigh echoed throughout the empty void. Before the sound dissipated, a bright light winked into existence, barely pushing away the darkness. A humanoid figure dressed in white soon walked into view, its outline blurred by the light wreathing around it. The figure raised its arms to the observer as if in benediction and the light shined brighter. Like a startled creature, the darkness recoiled from the strengthened beams of light.

"_Greetings, thou who art bound to the stream of souls," _the figure said with a woman's voice, though one can hear several whispers parroting her every word. _"Prepare thyself, for the first pen stroke of thy journey has already been marked on the pages of destiny."_

_"I have chosen thee because thou have the potential to undergo the trials ahead on thy quest for a brighter future. For thy first ordeal, each will face a test that require thy particular expertise, wits, and courage to pass. Along the way, some of thee shall be betrayed while some shall find themselves targets of those who'd long since despised them. Still, some of thee shall be hunted for seeing things thou shouldn't have seen. Fret not, for these art only the winding of gears turned by unseen hands, putting in motion things to come."_

"_Shall thou choose to heed this dream, convene together in the land of snow north of Tir Chonaill and seek out the mark of the owl amid the ranks of snowmen. Thou art the carriers of the quill of change, the protectors of Erinn, and thou shall by thine actions write a brighter future onto the pages of this world. Be vigilant for dark days loom on the horizon and enemies hide behind pretty and familiar faces. Until we meet again, quill carriers."_

With a flash, the figure disappeared, replaced momentarily by what appeared to be a white horned owl holding a quill pen in its beak before everything faded to black.

Waking from her nap, Sakurami shook herself to full awareness and glanced around the busy interior of Port Qilla. Merchants and their helpers loaded the last of the wares and provisions off of the ships and onto the wagons while caravan guards played a game of dice on the nearby table. Standing from her spot beneath a tree, Sakurami made sure her guard cylinder was attached firmly to her left forearm and her regular cylinder to her right. Though it was less cumbersome to just wield the cylinder, the elf knew that the guard cylinder was too useful to pass up because not only can the recently invented weapon protect her from blows with its attached shield but can siphon mana from the surrounding air and redirect it to the other cylinder. This boosts not only the amount of power each alchemy crystal unleashes when activated but injects an extra oomph behind them necessary to hit tougher enemies harder. Even her instructor hinted at additional interactions only possible through the use of a guard cylinder.

As the wind played with her straight white hair that extended to her back, Sakurami glanced around the small town, her steel blue eyes examining the Uladh architecture. Originally consisting of just a base camp and a small dock, Qilla soon blossomed into a small town when the Uladh Trading Union expanded here, rebranding itself as the Erinn Traders' Community. The capital cities of Filia and Vales soon grew due to the influx of commerce and the jungle village of Cor grew to the size of a small town as well. New towns sprang up in Rano, Connous, and Physis, and villages in Courcle grew in size and wealth as the jungle tribes united into a confederation to better take advantage of the budding trade routes. If that weird dream was right about dark times coming then it certainly won't occur in the foreseeable future. Checking her pocket watch, Sakurami noticed that she had been asleep for what the Tuatha de Danann referred to as twenty minutes. However, her Milletian senses told her that it felt like days if not weeks.

Taking her mind off of the nuances of Milletian time perception, Sakurami walked to the trading post to buy some trading goods. Though she have already signed up to guard the caravan on its way to Filia, the elven Milletian figured that some extra Ducats and gold on the side wouldn't hurt either. Besides, the sense of personal accomplishment will hopefully be enough to neutralize the bitter feeling of having to meet a certain someone she would rather not see again. Some people continue to live only due to the simple virtue of it being illegal to kill them. Browsing through Jelba the Goblin's wares, Sakurami figured that salt was more valuable in Filia than pottery and fur coats, and bought a few bags. Placing them into her pack, she made sure she packed enough water and food for the trip to the oasis town of Fhaglas, located on the southwestern tip of the Longa desert, that served as a rest stop before the long journey toward Filia. Though the trip will take days, it will feel like months passing by for the Milletian and Sakurami hoped to Lymilark that there will be few interruptions en route so that she can conduct her research in relative peace.

* * *

Performance Hall, Vales

"Once upon a time, there were a giant brewer by the name of Koch who wanted to become a famous writer. Unfortunately, his head was not heavy with ideas and his pockets was much, much lighter."

The puppet reached into its cloth pockets and 'pulled' them inside out, managing a shrug. A few of the audience chuckled.

"One day, a white, horned owl flew over and dropped a quill into his mug. The message was simple: write a poem after having many a chug."

A wooden horse flew over, paused for a few seconds, and quickly ducked back into the velvet, eliciting more laughter. A wooden owl painted in an off-color white flew over the puppet and dropped a tiny feather into its cup. The puppet then 'drank' from the mug, 'giving' off a series of surprisingly loud gulps before giving off a hearty belch. Amid the laughter, the guffaw of King Krug was the loudest. As the king snapped his knees, his wife Queen Kirine rested her head on a hand, looking as if she would rather be somewhere else.

"So our drunken writer Koch drank his fill of Physis fare," the purple-haired, teenaged giantess continued as she glanced over the eager faces of her people. The soft light of the torches reflected off her purple irises. "And like a madman, he breathed his nonsense into the air."

Taking a deep, comically loud breath, the giant Milletian named Karzetra began:

'_Birds and gals, swimming in airborne mead, listen to the rocks sing,'_

_'Of trees swearing and storms and their young taking wing.'_

_'The wind wakes up and sleepily asks, "Where's my daughter?" '_

_'The drunken writer smiles and, taking a bow, answers, _

"_I have imprisoned her but she pushes against my walls so much that it's becoming too painful to bear. Allow me to return her." '_

A toot with a deep pitch 'escaped' from the puppet. Immediately the audience was in an uproar, guffawing and coughing as they held onto each other. Even Krug struggled to keep from falling out of his seat. Rolling her eyes, Kirine muttered something only to straighten slightly in her seat when she caught sight of a figure in a dark hooded robe making their way toward her. A red scarf was draped over their broad shoulders. That combined with their narrow hips indicated that they were male.

' _"Oh look, she broke free anyway!" ' the writer sneered, fanning the air. "Too bad she'd never bathe!" '_

_' "Your disrespect shall be your end!" the wind screeched, baring its fangs. "Now prepare yourself for in this ground you shall be interred today!" '_

_' "I don't think so, you air-headed ninny!" the writer cried as he produced a whistle out of his pocket._

"_I shall fly from your face so fast you'd have better luck catching a rocket!" '_

The puppet 'blew" into the whistle and a wooden horse flew out of the velvet bags. When the flying creature got close enough, the puppet quickly mounted it and jerked on the 'reins'. However, the rider was too unsteady to remain on the saddle and promptly fell onto the ground in a heap. Turning to the audience, Karzetra gave them a wide grin. "As the good king would say, 'Don't drink and ride horses.' "

"You're preaching to the choir, Karzetra!" Krug chortled as he gave her a thumbs up. Beside him, Kirine leaned over to the hooded figure and whispered into his ear, making furtive gestures toward her husband. The stranger was too small to be a giant child and the bulges on the side of his hood indicated that he was an elf. Nodding, the stranger turned and left. Karzetra caught a glimpse of light reflecting off his green eyes as he glanced her way for a few seconds before exiting the hall.

_' "It seems that not even fate will allow you to escape from me!" the wind bellowed." '_

_' "You are right," the writer resigned, dusting himself off. "At least allow me a final drink before I go." '_

_'As the wind relented, the writer uncapped a particularly strong brew,'_

_'And to the wind's surprise, into the air the liquid he threw.'_

_'The wind became dimwitted and his speech became slurred, inebriated.'_

_'His vision became doubled and his thoughts were scrambled by fermented liquid, discombobulated.'_

_'The writer then asked, "How do you feel? You can become sodden, who'd thunk?"_

_'With a hiccup and a belch, the wind gave a slurred yet sagely proclamation, "I'M DRUNK!" '_

As the audience proceeded to laugh their asses off, Karzetra turned to find Kirine looking directly at her. With a derisive snort, the queen of the giants turned to look at a giant sitting nearby. Wearing leather armor, the giant reached over his shoulder to readjust the long sword sheathed on his back. His clouded eyes revealed him to be completely blind yet everyone in Vales knew that Taunes' senses have sharpened to a point in which he might as well not needed eyes anyway. As he gave a light chuckle at the punchline, Kirine continued to watch him in a way that reminded Karzetra of a hungry cat eying a delicious fish. Quite frankly, the giant Milletian have read too many romance novels to know how this will go. Irinid knows how far the damage would spread and who will get caught in it.

Refocusing on her performance, Karzetra continued the puppet show as she became buried in her thoughts.

* * *

Tir Chonaill

~_Investigative Journalist Myronydas' Log, Alban Heruin, 8:04am. It's been a while since I'd first trawled through Math Dungeon near Dunbarton. It was a slog fighting through not only kobolds and giant spiders but the trio of hellhounds at the very end but I did it. Yay me! Anyway, I found a goblet made of an unidentified metal that one of the hellhounds was presumably digging up before I came. It has symbols on it that were not found in any known language or script. Though archaeology isn't typically something most investigative journalists wanted to do, I decided to take the cup to Franklin, the curator of Dunbarton's new museum. Who knows, maybe it will lead me somewhere? He informed me that the symbols resembled those found on shards dug up at Mag Tuireadh, the site of a huge battle between the human Tuatha de Dananns and the Fomorians and their Tir Bolg slaves as referenced in the best-seller 'The Goddess Who Turned into Stone'. He also said that one sequence of symbols on the goblet resembled one found at the base of the statue of Morrighan in Tir Chonaill's Alby Dungeon, which is why yours truly is here._

_Of course, I'd be lying if I was to say that it's my only reason for returning to my hometown and revisiting old friends. Prior to my journey to Math Dungeon, I had a weird dream. Though the details were blurry at best, I remembered some woman mentioning some shit about finding the Owl Mark where there is a lot of snowmen. Now, as long as I'd been visiting Sidhe Sneachta, I have never encountered something like that. Perhaps it's buried underneath all the snow? Strangely though, only a few of my Milletian colleagues mentioned having that dream. Perhaps whoever sent that dream wants to be selective? Worth investigating after I'm through with Alby._

_Not sure of what I will face, I brought along a group of Milletians to aid me. Currently, we're waiting until the wedding is over to resupply as the usual shopkeepers are obviously preoccupied so most of us are busy maintaining our weapons and sparring. Only I am interested in attending the ceremony. I'll write of what I find in Alby and Sidhe Sneachta. This is Myronydas, the nosy Milletian you would want on your side!~_

"Whachu writing?"

Myronydas yelped as she leaped out of her seat, nearly dropping her journal. Brushing one of the long twin ponytails out of her face, the human Milletian turned to glare at the mischievous shepherd grinning at her, her blood red eyes matching her hair. "Gods-dammit Deian, do you always sneak up on people when they're trying to work?"

"Only when I'm bored," the boy said, shrugging. "Trust me, herding sheep gets boring after a while."

"Well bugging people is not going to do anything but get you shot in the ass!" Myronydas growled before giving off a soft sigh.

Deian raised an eyebrow as he glanced at the dual pistols holstered at Myronydas' sides. "You're not going to really shoot me, are you Myronie? Duncan is going to be so mad if you do."

Closing her journal, Myronydas gave the tanned-skin Tuatha de Danann a flesh-eating grin. "You cannot snitch if you don't know who shot you in the ass, can you? Even so, everyone is at the wedding except you. Conclusion, there is no witnesses anyway."

Gulping, Deian backed away slightly. "Haha, no need to be that way. I was only joking."

"Relax, I'm more likely to give you a resounding kick in the ass anyway," Myronydas said as she put away her belongings. She then glanced in the direction of the church. "I'd never thought those two would finally tie the knot. He finally got her to agree to marry him after so long. It felt like forever, even if I wasn't a Milletian. I've heard he managed to woo her while she was singing, something about using his mandolin to play a few songs."

"Yeah, now that Tir Chonaill is growing and changing, it would make sense for people to change as…," Deian went pale at the realization of something. "OH SHIT!"

"What, what's wrong?"

"The wedding's been going on for twenty minutes, right?!"

Myronydas shrugged. "That's the idea, though it feels like almost a day has passed."

Deian clasped his hair with both hands. "I am supposed to be the ringbearer! I got to get home and get dressed!"

"Then stop wasting time and hurry up!" Myronydas exasperated as Deian ran back home. "What an idiot!"

Taking a glance at her traveling companions sparring in the grasslands outside Tir Chonaill, Myronydas made her way toward the church. When she finally got inside, the vows were about to be exchanged. New faces and old sat in the pews, all awaiting that fateful moment. Between the newlyweds was none other than Meven himself. The aging former missionary appeared to have gained a few more wrinkles, though it could be Myronydas' Milletian's senses fooling her. Nevertheless, he exuded the same aura of power she known him for since then. The groom was dressed in an average-looking suit, the kind that would be sold cheaply at most locations, minus the frills. The bride's sleeveless dress; however, looked more fancy than typical dresses found outside Emain Macha and Tara. Perhaps the bride have had plenty of money saved up or it was simply a hand-me-down from her mother. Regardless, it certainly doesn't detract from her beauty.

Sitting next to Dilys and Lassar, Myronydas greeted the two women, who acknowledged her presence in turn. As usual, Lassar was dressed in one of her myriad school uniforms, albeit one that's fancier. Dilys; however, wore a simple blue dress with a flower on the right shoulder. As the service continued, Lassar leaned over to Myronydas and whispered, "Do you think they'll be serving wine after the wedding?"

"Probably," Myronydas said, shrugging. "Not that I can drink any. I have an upcoming dungeon run after this service."

"Lassar, it's too early to start thinking about alcohol," Dilys chided her.

"What, I just want to unwind," Lassar replied, ignoring Dilys' sour expression. "You're leaving so soon? What's the rush?

"Oh nothing in particular. Just have a lead that I would like to follow up on before someone else picks up the trail and steals credit from me."

"Wow, I didn't know the Aliech Times can be so competitive. What's scoop you're following now?"

"Let's just say that there may be more to Alby Dungeon than meets the eye."

"Regardless, I shall pray to Lymilark for your success," Dilys said.

"You know me, I don't need the gods' blessings," Myronydas gave a dry laugh before her expression became dark. "They don't seem to care for us anyway."

"Aren't you the grumpy Milletian," Lassar teased before being stopped by a look from Dilys. "Uh, I'm sorry. You must still be coping with Laina's death."

"Yes I am, Lassar. Maybe her talents are wasted on being a priestess for Lymilark anyway," Myronydas muttered before straightening up. She then gave a wide smile. "Let's not spoil this joyful day, right?"

"You're right," Dilys said as she pointed toward the soon-to-be-wedded couple. "The vows are about to be exchanged."

Turning to the groom, Meven spoke, "Do you, Malcolm, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do," the soft-spoken general store owner answered, blushing slightly.

"And do you, Nora, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do," the petite inn worker replied, a big smile on her face.

Raising his hands in benediction, Meven spoke to the congregation. "Now, is there anyone here who feel that these two should not be wedded? Speak now or forever hold your-"

At that very moment, the front doors of the church burst open and Deian quickly rushed in, panting and disheveled. His suit has patches of dirt in several places and the pillow he carried was torn. Keeling over to catch his breath, Deian straightened up as the congregation looked on with a mixture of interest and disapproval.

"I'm sorry!" Deian panted, dusting off his clothes. "I- *pant* I sort of forgotten about my role. Um, had the vows already been exchanged yet?"

"Of course they have!" Caitin yelled. The grocer was wearing a white dress. Her eyes then settled on the pillow. "Deian, where the rings?"

"I was carrying them on this pillow when…," Deian's eyes fell on the empty pillow in his hands. "Oh shit, I dropped them!"

The congregation gasped at the expletive.

"No foul language inside the church!" Duncan, the chief of Tir Chonaill, snapped.

"_You dropped them?!"_ Caitin exasperated. "Go find them!"

As the congregation got up and begin exiting the sanctuary, muttering among themselves in disapproval at Deian, Dilys gave a deep sigh. "I bet a thousand whacks on the rear with a board full of holes would teach that boy some manners," she said.

"You've got to give him credit for saying something like that so loud inside the church," Lassar said, smirking.

"Probably a slip of the tongue, now that would make a great headline," Myronydas said as she gestured with a hand. " _'Local Boy Swears in Church. Harsh Punishment Imminent.'_ "

Lassar and Dilys chuckled. "I bet being forced to work for Caitin while crossdressing would be Deian's definition of hell," Lassar said with a mischievous grin. "I'm sure that some of my smaller school uniforms will fit him."

"Or maybe Endelyon has some nun outfits on hand for him to wear," Dilys said, chuckling before standing up. "Let's go help that nincompoop find the rings or the wedding will never end."

Standing up, the trio joined the others.

~break~

Later that day

"Hahaha, I can't believe Duncan actually took my advice!" Lassar laughed.

"Yeah, I bet Deian is not very happy right now!" Myronydas agreed, giggling. "Also, I can't believe Caitin agree to force him to wear that wig too!"

"She's likely been waiting for something like this to happen so that she can slap it on him!" Dilys chuckled. "I bet all those times of Deian teasing her about her weight are catching up to him!"

"He looks so cuuuuute~!" Lassar said, pausing to catching her breath. "I'm sure Caitin will enjoy her new helper for a week!"

"Yes but Deian certainly won't," Myronydas said before sighing in contentment. "Anyway, I bet Malcolm and Nora will enjoy their honeymoon in Emain Macha. That city looks so beautiful at night."

"Of course they will though I've taken the liberty of warning them about a certain red-haired prick who runs a bar there," Dilys said, her expression darkening slightly.

"I'm sure they'll be fine as long as they stay near the paladins," Lassar said as her attention turned toward a person walking toward them. Wearing a white hooded cloak that barely covered a black shirt, a silver cuirass and white loose-legged pants, the dark-skinned young human man stopped a few meters in front of the three women. His face was smooth shaven and his frame was thin, looking almost as feminine as Malcolm, though some muscle poked through his sleeves. His butterscotch-colored eyes shone with a playful and curious expression, though Myronydas couldn't help but to feel that they were scanning her thoroughly, noticing details that others could easily miss. A silver kite shield was strapped onto his back and a longsword with an elaborately designed hilt-guard was sheathed at his side. The young women felt an all too familiar aura coming from the man and immediately recognized who he is.

"I swear you Milletians are getting better looking by the minute," Lassar teased, giving the man a playful wink.

The Milletian gave her a warm smile as he removed his hood, revealing long butterscotch and caramel hair which was tied into a ponytail. "Yes, though you Tuatha de Dananns have beauty that's uninterrupted since we are always getting reborn," he said in a soft-spoken voice as he gave her a bow.

"Handsome _and_ polite."

"Quite the romantic, are you?" Myronydas mused as she stood up. "Dilys, Lassar, this is Hyperion. Hyperion, Dilys and Lassar."

"How do you do?" Hyperion greeted as he extended a hand. Though Lassar quickly grabbed and shook it, Dilys did so tentatively. He then turned his attention back to Myronydas. "I'm here to inform you that the other Milletians are well stocked and ready to venture into Alby Dungeon."

"Okay, tell the others I'll be there shortly," Myronydas said.

"Certainly," Hyperion said before he left to rejoin the others.

"Can we come too?" Lassar asked.

Before Myronydas could answer, Dilys cut in. "No fucking way, Lassar! Do you remember what happened the last time we entered Alby Dungeon?"

"But I was drunk last time-" Lassar's face paled as she realized what she'd just said in front of Myronydas.

"You was _drunk_?!" Myronydas asked incredulously before laughing out loud. "That is so you!"

"Stop laughing, Myronie! It's not funny!"

"*Snort* I can't help it, picturing you trying to kill a giant spider with a fireball while intoxicated and missing completely!"

"That's exactly what happened," Dilys said matter-of-factly.

"Dilys what the hell?!"

Taking breaths between laughs, Myronydas finally calmed down. "But Dilys is right, Lassar. It's best for you both to stay here. Besides, I don't know what we will find there. This has 'weird mystery' written all over it and I don't know how hairy things will get. Hopefully, it's just traps and untouched relics."

"In either case, I wish you all safe travels," Dilys said as she gave Myronydas a hug. "Just come back alive, okay?"

"Sure thing, Dilys. Hopefully we will take only a day or two. If we're not back by then, expect us back from the Soul Stream soon."

"I'll keep an ear to the ground."

"Please be sure to tell us what you find, okay?" Lassar added as she hugged Myronydas.

The Milletian hugged the two Tuatha de Danann tightly. "I will."

* * *

15 miles outside Filla, the Longa desert.

The corpse of the desert ghost was knocked back by a powerful gust of wind, his neck already snapped in several places. The body slammed into a rock outcropping and was torn in half by the force of impact, scattering flakes of long dried-up blood and pieces of desiccated flesh everywhere. As the battle between the caravan guards and the desert ghost ambushers raged on, Sakurami deflected an arrow with her guard cylinder and aimed her other cylinder at the archer shooting at her. The desert ghost didn't have time to react before a fast moving ball of water flew at him and ripped his head from his shoulders.

As the headless body collapsed, Sakurami glanced at it with mild pity. Despite the Irinid's curse being broken, none of the desert ghosts reverted back to the elves they once were. In fact, there are rumors that they are increasing in numbers despite no further disappearances of elves being reported. It was a mystery she'd hoped to solve but now is not the time.

It was time to kill.

In quick succession, Sakurami loaded five fire crystals into her cylinder and aimed at a group of desert ghost warriors charging at her. Pulling the trigger, she watched with detachment as a stream of fire erupted from the muzzle and coated the desert ghosts in searing flames. She didn't even flinch when they dropped their weapons and flailed wildly around, giving off a cacophony of dry shrieks as their desiccated skin flaked and darkened in the flames. Lacking the amount of body water found in a normal humanoid, the technically still alive walking corpses were highly flammable much to their chagrin and the flames soon reduced them to ashes and charred bone.

Cries of alarms rang out, and Sakurami turned just in time to see a large group of desert ghosts emerging from the sands on the caravan's lightly protected flank. Racing over toward the new threat, Sakurami quickly pulled out and unwrapped a slick wax bundle and rammed it into her cylinder. Loading a fire crystal into the chamber, she mentally estimated her distance from the enemy and adjusted the elevation accordingly. She licked a finger and held it up to the wind to determine its direction and speed before readjusting her aim again. As she begin to pull the trigger, Sakurami thought of the materials used to craft this bundle.

Two bandages = 60 gold

Shyllien powder = 75 gold

One heat crystal = 7 ducats

Two stamina 10 potions = 60 gold

A steel dagger bought from the Weapon Breaker himself = 120 gold

The exact same dagger accidentally broken into tiny steel shards by the Weapon Breaker himself = 0 gold

Wax = 20 gold

The extreme amount of satisfaction gained from using these items to piece together a weapon capable of laying waste to one's enemies = Priceless.

The bundle was launched out of the cylinder in a burning mess, trailing a thick tail of smoke behind it. Bracing against the recoil, Sakurami watched as the projectile landed in the middle of the desert ghosts just as the first of them managed to free themselves out of the sands. The bundle erupted in a massive explosion that slammed into the desert ghosts. Those who weren't vaporized by the blast were scythed down by the broken pieces of the dagger as well as their comrades' weapons and glass shards. Limbs and bodies flew everywhere, some landing close to the caravan. When the dust and smoke cleared, a large crater of glass with the scattered and charred remains of the desert ghosts surrounding its lip was left of the enemy. There were only a few survivors who'd been reduced to badly mangled bodies though they weren't expected to 'live' for long.

A horn blew in the distance and the surviving desert ghosts called off their attack and retreated. Turning toward the source of the call, Sakurami saw a lone desert ghost standing on a dune. Wearing a worn caramel-colored robe, he wore a red scarf around his mouth. Twin curved swords were sheathed at his sides and a horn was clasped in one of his desiccated hands. His red eyes seemed to shine with hatred underneath the shadow cast by his hood.

"You may have won this fight outlanders but we will never relent!" the desert ghost shouted in a raspy, hollow voice as his comrades ran pass him. "If you only knew of the nature and capabilities of the beast your caravans feed then you would've refused to trade with Connous! You doomed not only the innocent and the oppressed peoples of Iria but your own countries across the sea! Go home and remember the warnings of Yoff formerly Phaselus, protector and avenger of Dfatar, and pass them on to your associates!"

Sakurami raised an eyebrow when Yoff pointed an accusing finger at her. "As for you Milletian elf, do not think that I will forget or forgive how brutally you murdered my friends. They were good people and their families will weep of their lost. Pray to the Irinid or whatever foreign god you would renounce her for that we both do not meet in battle again." With that, Yoff turned to rejoin his comrades.

"Good people don't raid caravans and kill defenseless people," Sakurami muttered in a soft monotone as she put up her weapons and fanned herself in the desert heat, grateful that she took off the elven armor in favor of a white and gold school uniform she brought from Tara. "Quit your mewling, Yoff. People losing family members is just another part of war. Deal with it."

"You're really harsh, you know that right?"

With a shrug, Sakurami turned to the human who just spoke to her, a small smile forming on her face as she watched the taller Milletian shifted uncomfortably underneath her steel plated armor. "I'm just stating the facts as I see them, Stacee."

Removing her helmet, Stacee wiped sweat off her brow and put it into her pack. The wind played with her short blonde hair. Her blue eyes gazed at Sakurami with disapproval. "There is a such thing as sympathy you know. Even I don't always enjoy killing everyone attacking me."

"Having sympathy for aggressors is a surefire way to die of a sword in your viscera," Sakurami replied as she retrieved her merchant's pack and slung it over her back. She then turned back to Stacee with a small smirk on her face. "Anyway, wearing full plated armor in the gods-damn sun is a surefire way to die of heat stroke."

"I'm a Milletian so I can handle it!" Stacee panted, trying to look confident but failing miserably. "Besides, it's stylish."

"If you were a Tuatha de Danann I'd make sure to put those words on your tombstone and inform your next of kin of your stupidity."

"Speaking of kin," Stacee breathed as she turned toward the desert ghost corpses on the ground. "Our friend Yoff mentioned something about families. However, it's not like _desert ghosts_ can procreate. They're basically mummified husks that somehow count as living beings, right?"

"Let's find out, shall we?" Sakurami said as she went over to a pile of desert ghost corpses. Selecting one, she kicked it onto its back. Confirming that the desert ghost was female, the Milletian elf pressed a foot down on her abdomen. Surprisingly, it was softer than those of the male bodies. A thick dark red liquid gushed out of the stump where her left leg used to be. "It seems the females are a bit different."

"No kidding, she's quite juicy," Stacee said as her nose wrinkled in the thick coppery scent drifting from the red liquid.

Sakurami paused before asking, "Juicy enough to bear children, you would say?"

"Assuming the males still have functioning peckers to fertilize her in the first place, yes," Stacee looked queasy at the thought. "Ugh, the thought of walking corpses bumping uglies..."

"Well the mystery of the desert ghost populations rising has now been solved," Sakurami said as she took her foot off the desert ghost. "This must have happened after the Irinid's curse was broken. We're talking about a new race on the rise here, ready to join the human, elven, and giant Tuatha de Dananns in their childish attempts at the total domination of Erinn."

Stacee thought about something for a moment. "I wonder why Yoff hates Connous so much."

"There could be a lot of reasons, including whatever happened to Dfatar, but if the beast is who I think it is then I don't really blame him," Sakurami said before turning back to the caravan. "Let's get out of here before the desert ghosts return."

After gathering their wares and burning the dead, the caravan continued on its way to Filia without further incident. When Sakurami caught sight of the capital city of Connous, she saw several large scorch marks on the stone pylons and craters in the stone pavement. Several of the buildings were undergoing repairs and a smothering pile of charred bones sat outside the city's boundary. Trading in her bags of salts for ducats and gold at the Filia trade post, Sakurami told Stacee that she'll meet up with her later before entering the city gates. Because Filia had grown since she'd last visited, Sakurami knew that she have to walk much further to get to the blacksmith. After about twenty minutes of walking, Sakurami arrived just in time to see the blacksmith swing a longsword with a blue-tinged blade expertly around her body. Instead of her usually orange, layered cloak, the elf wore a white outfit with a militaristic style, complete with red and black markings. A red armband with Filia's emblem was wore above her right elbow. Her fingerless gloves were of the same color. When she saw Sakurami, she sheathed her sword and turned to face her, a warm smile on her face. Sakurami noticed that her movements were a bit more stiff and disciplined than she remembered.

"Did the chief turned Filia into a military camp while I was gone?" Sakurami asked her. "First she fortified the perimeter then she makes the guards wear these new uniforms, much like the one you're wearing, Meles. Whatever you're planning to do, I would like to inform you that it don't suit you."

Meles simply shrugged, the ivory strands of her twin braids wafting in the breeze. Her expression got a bit darker. "I once told myself that until the desert ghosts attacked this morning. The moment Lepus and a few more elves got killed in the fighting, I realized that it's kill or be killed. Needless to say, I cut down my share of the bastards and haven't looked back since."

Sakurami raised an eyebrow. "That's something I can agree with but you once detested that sort of perspective, calling it 'callous'. What changed your outlook? I thought you hated killing."

"To tell you the truth, I used to find killing other thinking beings, even those desert ghosts, repulsive and I was afraid of becoming a monster. However, Castanea came and talked some sense into me. She made me realize that my fighting skills are better honed by the warrior I meant to be and not wasted in pitiful pacifism. She opened my eyes and showed me who I am meant to be: a sword of Connous and not a blacksmith. In fact, I'm closing down the shop and enlisting into the royal guard today. Hey, why are you making that face?"

Sakurami continued to hold her scowl. "What sort of brainwashing device did Castanea used on you? You don't sound like the Meles I would-"

"That Meles died in the attack," Meles interrupted, almost snapping. Sighing, she continued. "I'm sorry Sakurami but it's my decision alone and definitely not the effect of some Irinid-forsaken device. Now, I'd love to stay and chat but Captain Maike expects me to report to the Royal Guard barracks in two hours and I have a bit over an hour to make sure the smithy is ready for whoever wants to replace me so if you need anything then please make it quick."

Sakurami simply shrugged. "Just visiting people I haven't seen in a long time, that is all."

Without waiting for Meles to respond, Sakurami walked in the direction of the healer's house. Navigating through the winding streets, she finally arrived to find two elven women talking to each other. One of them she immediately recognized as Atrata, Filia's chief healer. Wearing an orange robe, the black-haired elf appeared to be pleading with the other person, who looked irritated as she thrust a vial of a dark red substance back into her hands. The elf in question wore a white, regal dress with a red hooded cloak. Strands of purple hair flowed out of her hood and reach down toward a medallion with a strange green stone in the middle.

"Your combat potions have already given several of my soldiers diarrhea, Atrata," the woman said, her voice sounding bleary but harsh. "Are you trying to sabotage my ambitions?"

"I'm sorry, your Majesty," Atrata replied, her eyes pleading. "I need more time to dry the herbs some more. Please just be a bit more patient."

The elf reached out a smooth, pale hand and stroked Atrata's chin. The chief healer stiffened and gave a fearful gasp as the elf moved her hand down to her throat and firmly curled her fingers around it. "An empress on the rise can afford to be as patient as she likes," she purred, her voice taking on a predatory edge. "Besides, it is only because of my protection that the most superstitious of our people haven't already buried you alive in the sands of Connous, am I right my dear black-haired healer?"

Sakurami truly recognized that voice after all. Immediately, her stomach curled and soured at the thought of this woman. Sure she have met despicable people like Lucas in Emain Macha for example, but no one had managed to stir up such a feeling of loathing in the otherwise stoic Sakurami like the elven woman standing before her. Sakurami could almost sense the pretentiousness and condescension coming from the elf, especially when she's messing with her personal chew toy. No wonder poor Atrata is in the nervous state she's in.

Figuring this has gone on long enough, Sakurami cleared her throat to grab the elves' attention. Her blue eyes falling on her, the elf lowered her hood and revealed an elaborately designed hair ornament that covered the front of her purple hair. Beside her, Atrata relaxed visibly. "Look what the Irinid just coughed up," she finally said, giving Sakurami a derisive smile. "You Milletians certainly know how to pop up wherever you pleased, wanted or otherwise."

"I see that recent events have done little to change your predisposition, _your Majesty,_" Sakurami said as she gave a mock curtsy. "You still know how to give others your particular brand of courtesy, _Empress_ Castanea."

"Mouthy in your quiet little way, I see. Such attitude could land you in big trouble were you a Tuatha de Danann, my dear Milletian."

"Having pseudo-immortality and persistent skills across multiple Rebirths, not to mention a faster perception of time, tends to make one disinterested in the nuances of Tuatha de Danann societal politics."

"Ah, it probably does but pissing off the wrong ruler can limit a Milletian's range of travel, not to mention making them a target for certain… acts of discomfort that exploit their faster perception of time. For example, let's say that the pissed off ruler in question wants to strip you naked and submerge you into a coffin full of broken glass, perhaps adding a spell that can keep you from dying of infection, dehydration, starvation, and bloodlost. Imagine spending an excruciatingly long period of time in such a state as pieces of glass slip into every orifice and crevice in your body. Given that a week to a Tuatha de Danann is a year to a Milletian, one can only imagine the mental state of our unfortunate Milletian after spending only five months in the coffin."

Despite herself, Sakurami cringed visibly which caused Castanea's smile to widen. "Of course, the pissed off ruler probably knows that the Milletian can just return to the Soul Stream to escape such a harrowing fate," the Milletian elf countered, struggling to keep her voice steady.

"Yes but only to either travel or Rebirth," Castanea replied as she placed her hands on her hips. "Even then, the Milletian's race and true name cannot be changed by a Rebirth, according to the Milletians under my employ. Finding the elven child with a certain name is laughable easy."

"Hmm," Sakurami responded, pausing for a few minutes before continuing, her face a mask that betrayed no emotions. "When you put it that way, it complicates things."

"It certainly does, my dear Milletian," Castanea said smugly. "In fact, you would want to be on my good side by helping our forces with a task tonight. Atrata will fill you in on the details."

Proud that she emerged victorious from her verbal duel with the Milletian, Castanea put back on her hood and turned to face Atrata. "As for you Atrata, I'll grant you enough time to finish drying those herbs so that you can make those combat potions right this time. Don't make me regret it."

Atrata yelped when Castanea reached over and gave her bottom a firm pinch. Giving Sakurami a derisive smirk, Castanea left for the palace.

"I doubt the world would miss that bitch," Sakurami muttered as soon as the self-proclaimed empress was out of earshot. Turning back to Atrata, the Milletian watched as the chief healer nursed the sore spot. "You've really got to stand up for yourself."

"Easy for you to say, you're not required to immerse yourself in 'Tuatha de Danann societal politics'," Atrata grumbled before straightening out her clothing. The elf then sighed. "I'm sorry Sakurami, it's not easy dealing with the fact that you're essentially the favorite chew toy of the bitch who's also protecting you from superstitious fools."

"Understood. Leave it to the ignorami to be spooked by the misfortune that one's hair pigmentation supposedly brings," Sakurami said before thinking of something. "Strangely though, I don't remember her being this bitchy the last time I was here. Sure she was a bitch then but only a reserved bitch. Now she's giving off vibes of being a murderous bitch."

"I blame those travelers who visited Filia two months ago. Hell, Castanea treated me relatively better before they came," Atrata said as she tended to the herbs being dried over the fire. Anger flashed across her face. "They were a group of Tuatha de Danann who claimed to be archaeologists from the Calida Exploration Camp in Zardine, though I didn't believe them. They led Castanea to a cache of elven artifacts they found, objects dating back to when Connous was once a lush jungle. I'd heard rumors from the Royal Guard that they're actually lost technology from a past era of elven advancement. Suspicious about the strange coincidences of this whole nonsense, I sent a letter to my friend Kelpie at the exploration camp to inquire about the strangers."

"And it turns out those Tuatha de Danann weren't even part of their group," Sakurami surmised.

"Exactly!" Atrata exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air. "I went to Castanea about my suspicions and she just brushed me off, saying that she doesn't care. In fact, she rewarded them lavishly and sent them on their way. I don't know what happened at the cache or what they put in her head but suddenly she thinks that Erinn would be better off under her rule. The woman's mad, I'm telling you!"

"She appears to be quite persuasive too," Sakurami added as she wiped sweat from her forehead. "I'd just learned that she managed to convince Meles to join the Royal Guard. Normally, that girl would rather sell weapons than use them on another being."

"The same thing happened with Granites. One would think a shell-shocked veteran of the Connous-Physis War would avoid reenlisting like the plague but I'd heard from Hagel that he jumped at the call like he was an eager recruit all over again. Just as well, Portia joined when Castanea spoke to her. Though she's great with a bow, I've heard she's branching into magic as well at Castanea's suggestion. I don't know what the fuck Castanea is doing to them but something's going on here and I believed it's linked to whatever she found in that cache."

"Great and she wants to use me as well," Sakurami said, sighing lightly. "What sordid affair that's happening tonight for which her Imperial Bitchiness requires my specific talents?"

"Our scouts report a large desert ghost settlement inside a cave on the western rock face of the Errans Gorge," Atrata replies as she begin brewing the reagents for the potions. "As soon as the sun disappears beneath the horizon, we're going to attack. We're going to make them pay for killing so many good people. Myras, Tetris, Lepus, and many others. Perhaps we will uncover the mystery of how they're replenishing their numbers while we're at it."

Sakurami thoughts drifted back to the female desert ghost's corpse. "I have a theory but let's hope it's not true."

"I guess we'll find out soon then," Atrata said as her expression sank. "I remembered Lepus when he was a little boy. One of the few elves who didn't care about my black hair, he would always weave beautiful clothing for me on my birthday and repair my clothing free of charge. Though I would've preferred that he was not only still alive but was far, far away from this place, at least he no longer have to put up with this shit anymore."

Sakurami was silent for a moment. Finally, she gave a small smile and nodded. "Neither will he deal with what's to come."

* * *

Zedar's General Store, Vales.

"You are quite skilled with those puppets, Karzetra!" the giant teenager exclaimed excitedly. "Where did you learned to use them?"

Karzetra beamed as she moved her single thick braid behind an ear. Behind her, the last of the audience left the Performance Hall, talking excitedly about her show. The giant Milletian's arm ached a bit for signing so many autographs but the pride she felt for her work made such discomfort petty. "There's a guy in Emain Macha named Huw who is the greatest puppeteer in Erinn. In fact, he's so skilled that he knows how to use puppets in battle. He got a school and everything. You should go to Uladh to see him, Zeder and I would personally recommend you."

"I wish I can come, Karzetra. I really wish I could," Zeder said, feeling downcast. "However, somebody's got to look over the shop and that dipshit Wabst is watching me like a hawk. That lard-ass probably thinks that I will...nevermind. I'd just go whenever I can. Anyway, how does it feels to fight with your puppets?"

Pausing as she looked at Zeder, Karzetra simply shrugged. "It has a steep learning curve as not only do you have to learn to coordinate what is essentially a magical wooden doll as if it's an extension of yourself but be alert for any enemies that bypass your puppets and head straight for you. Basically, a good situational awareness and hand-eye coordination are essential skills to have as a puppeteer."

"You're right, it's must be hard," Zeder said, nodding. "However, you make it look so easy."

"That's because I'd gotten so good at it through months of practice though I'm only about average," Karzetra replied.

"Too bad you'd neglected your part-time job in the process."

The two giant teenagers whirled toward the speaker. Dressed from head to foot in yellow furs, the heavyset giant glared in annoyance at Karzetra, his nose as red as a coal left in the fire. A burp escaped from him lips.

"Oh right. Sorry Wabst, I'll get those bear meat for you," Karzetra said, chuckling nervously as she turned back to Zeder. Taking out a piece of paper, the giant Milletian scribbled on it and folded it. She then handed it to Zeder. "Well, I got to go Zeder. I'd promised to help him restock the bar after my performance. Please take care of that shopping list for me and I'll catch you later."

"You too, Karzetra. Be safe!" Zeder answered as Karzetra left with Wabst. Unfolding the sheet of paper, he discovered that it was actually a map of Erinn. On the Uladh continent, the city of Emain Macha was circled. On the bottom, right hand corner he found that Karzetra had written a little note:

"_If you truly want to escape your life, to become more than a mere shopkeeper, ask and you shall receive. Allow the puppeteer to send you on your way."_

A smile stretching across his face, Zeder folded the paper, put it in his pocket, and returned to his shop. Tonight is going to be a special night.

~break~

Sella Beach, 20 minutes later.

Landing on top of a snowy hill, Karzetra climbed off of her mount Rugwraith and gave the purple magic carpet a pat. Rolling itself up, the magic carpet danced around happily before disappearing in a flash of multicolored sparkles. Taking out her control bars, Karzetra went down the hill toward a lone snowfield bear. Though it was the same size as her, possibly a cub on the cusp of adulthood, Karzetra was fully aware that its mother wasn't too far behind. There have been many stories of even grown giant men getting eviscerated by an enraged mother snowfield bear after getting too close to their cubs. Possessing enough strength to crush even a Milletian's bones and extendable claws, bears like these are formidable foes.

Which is why Karzetra intended to dispatch it as quickly as possible.

Summoning her pierrot marionette, Karzetra made a pair of flicking motions toward it with her control bars. Immediately, strings materialized from the instruments and connected to various points on the marionette's body and limbs. Karzetra raised her control bars and the toddler-sized marionette stood up, it's magenta bob-cut hair and simple dress wafting in the cool breeze. Making several motions, Karzetra directed her wooden puppet toward the bear, walking after it while keeping an eye out for danger. When she got within range, the giant Milletian whirring one of her arms in a circle three times before thrusting it at the bear, which was oblivious to their presence.

Immediately, the pierrot raced forward in a blur, sparkled emitting from its hands. When it got close enough to the bear, it brought its hands to its chest and swung them forward in two arcs at once. The sparkles were gone and in their place was a large wooden mallet in one hand and a butcher knife in the other. This inciting incident was powerful enough to knock the bear onto its back. Karzetra felt the tremors of the landing move through the ground at her feet. Quickly getting back up, the bear turned to its attacker and roared in challenge, saliva dripping from its fangs. Blood dripped from a cut on its side and gave off a small amount of steam at it landed in the snow. Flicking the bear's blood from the butcher knife, the pierrot whirred its weapons and attacked again.

Bellowing in fury, the bear swiped at the pierrot with a massive claw. Ducking underneath the attack, the pierrot slammed the mallet into the side of the animal's head. Unfazed, the bear knocked the wooden puppet away with a back paw. The pierrot would've flew dozens of feet away had it's flight not been arrested by the strings. Making three arcing gestures, Karzetra directed the pierrot into slicing into the bear just as it was coming in for another attack, making two deep cuts before smashing into it with the mallet. Like a hero cutting pass the threshold that stands between them and their adventure, the pierrot cut through the bear's defenses and the surprised creature staggered away from the sudden assault looking worse for wear. However, it wasn't down for the count and the bear surprised Karzetra by charging at the pierrot and clamping its jaws around the puppet's body. Karzetra gritted her teeth as the bear shook the pierrot violently, causing its head to fly off and land a few meters away. Swinging her control bars outward and above her head at the same time to form an X in the air, Karzetra dematerialized the strings attached to the pierrot. Taking a deep breath, the giant Milletian ran full tilt at the bear and slammed into it shoulder first. The sudden blow caused the bear to release its grip on the pierrot moments before getting knocked onto its side. Not letting it get back up, Karzetra jumped on the animal, dropped one of her control bars, and drew a dagger which she quickly plunged into the ursine's throat. The bear's roars became gurgled as fresh blood flowing into its lungs. As the bear attempted to throw her off its body, Karzetra stabbed into its throat again. And again. And again.

Finally, the bear quivered before becoming still. The scent of blood overpowered her and Karzetra felt her right glove getting moist. Breathing rapidly, the giant Milletian averted her eyes and ripped the stained glove free. Retching, Karzetra turned to the side and emptied the contents of her stomach onto the snow. With a dry heaves, Karzetra kicked the bloodied glove a few meters away. Thankfully, none of the blood splashed onto her clothing and face. Muttering a weak prayer of thanks to the Irinid for the kill, Karzetra retrieved her pierrot's mangled body and head, sighing at the deep gashes cut into the wood. Telling by the damage, the marionette is only usable for the lightest of tasks. Furthermore, her puppet repair kit don't have enough spare materials to make repairs. Unfortunately, she still needed it for a gruesome task.

Returning to the bear, Karzetra carefully directed her damaged puppet to skin the carcass and slice at the flesh, using the snow to wipe away any blood. Unfortunately, she managed to gather the bear fur and a bit over the requested amount of meat before the marionette collapsed into several pieces. With a sigh, she unsummoned the puppet. Trudging over to where she dropped the dagger, Karzetra gingerly used snow to wipe it clean before sheathing it. Gingerly wrapping the chunks of meat into leather wraps, Karzetra made sure no blood was leaking from the skin and flesh before summoning Rugwraith and beginning her flight toward Vales.

Halfway to Vales, Karzetra noticed a pack of wolves surrounding something in the snow. Directing Rugwraith to descend, Karzetra reached into her pack and took out one of the chunks of bear meat. Taking out one of her control rods, she materialized strings that wrapped around the meat. Dangling it below her, Karzetra lured the wolves away to a location hundreds of meters away. Dropping the meat into the snow, Karzetra flew back to whatever caught the wolves' attention and landed a few feet away. Leaving Rugwraith out to help defend her, Karzetra discovered upon close inspection that it was a body. Wearing a hooded garb not too dissimilar to the elf who spoke with Kirine in the Performance Hall earlier today, the person's shape indicated that it was a female. She was face down in the snow and her leg was broken in several places. Bits of her skin that weren't covered by her clothes were frostbitten and there was a surprising lack of bite marks and tears on her clothes. However she broke her leg, this woman was ultimately taken by the elements. Hypothermia is certainly a slow and horrible way to die.

Bending down, Karzetra rolled the corpse onto its back. Her limbs cracked as the movement disturbed them but otherwise remained attached to the body. A silver mask with black markings on the forehead and around each eye hole covered her entire face. Reaching down and removing the mask, Karzetra recognized her as a human with neck-length brown hair. Her pale face was hardened with ice, her closed eyelids giving her the impression of being asleep. Muttering a small apology, Karzetra rifled through her pockets and found only a bag of coins and a folded piece of paper. Unfolding it, Karzetra proceeded to read the note:

"_Fourth of Imbolic. Malcon's hunches were right after all. The elven chief, now self-proclaimed empress of Connous, is recommencing military buildup in violation of the Connous-Physis Peace Treaty. Recruitment drives are now being conducted in elven towns and their forces are being bolstered with strange artifacts, likely from newly uncovered cave not far from the Shyllien Nature Reserve. Before I can ascertain the identities of the archaeologists responsible for cave's discovery, I was chased by the Royal Guard and barely escaped with my life. I broke my left leg yesterday while escaping a snowfield bear. If I don't make it, may Dian forgive my failure and weakness."_

Rereading the note, Karzetra blinked rapidly. Sure she'd heard stories about this elven chief and her thirst for power but she'd never imagined she would go far as to violating the treaty. Placing the note in a pocket, Karzetra thought about the Cessair. Having been sent by Queen Eirawen herself to help bolster relations with Iria, the Cessair Relief Force is tasked with rebuilding the continent in the aftermath of the Connous-Physis War. For some reason; however, they decided to set up their base of operations in Vales instead of the much warmer and closer Port Qilla further south. Perhaps they too are wary of the elves' growing militarism.

As Rugwraith unfurled, Karzetra climbed aboard and continued her flight toward Vales. King Krug must be informed of this.

* * *

Alby Dungeon, Tir Chonaill.

Myronydas gazed at the stone entrance of the dungeon dreamily, feeling a deep sense of nostalgia. Despite happening several years ago, centuries for Milletians, she still remembered coming here as a little girl at the behest of Ranald, eager to fight the monsters within and the giant red spider waiting at the end of the run. Of course, that was before she traded in her sword and shield for the then new-fangled pistols, before she'd even considered becoming an investigative journalist for the Aliech Times, but the memories of cutting through gray spiders and bats, just to name a few, gave her a warm and fuzzy feeling. Now she have returned a seasoned fighter and accompanied by five other, equally powerful Milletians with the intention of finding out what exactly this dungeon is hiding that countless people before them keep missing. What mysteries awaited them here? What secrets are waiting to be revealed? Would it challenge and even shatter what they knew about the history of the dungeons?

As a certain owl would say, let's find out!

The six Milletians enter the lobby of the dungeon and proceeded to look around the room, checking for any concealed latches and switches that would lead to a secret compartment or even a passageway. Some of them even inspected the statue of Morrighan itself. One of the Milletians, a tall, lightly armored tanned-skinned human with sea-green hair, blue eyes, and a braided beard, threw his hands into the air in frustration. "What exactly are we supposed to find here?" he asked impatiently. The torchlight reflected off a wicked looking greatsword sheathed on his back.

"Anything out of the ordinary, Cleonis," said the other Milletian, a brown-eyed giant wearing black leather armor and wielding spiked brass knuckles and atlatls, as he glared at Cleonis in annoyance. The only hair that grew on his head was his black goatee. His blue henna formed twin parallel jagged lines down both sides of his face. "You know, what no one would expect."

"This is the easiest dungeon in Uladh, Brianc!" Cleonis grumbled. "_Many_ newbies have been through here since the damn things were first built, however long that's been. Of course nothing would be out of the ordinary!"

"That's the thing, isn't it?" a teenaged human Milletian asked. Having ginger, neck-length hair and red eyes, she wore a cuirass and armored pants. Twin swords were sheathed at her sides. "_No one_ really know who built these places, at least any Tuatha de Danann they would know."

"According to the official histories, the human Tuatha de Danann built these raths as they are called to defend themselves against the Fomorians," an elven Milletian teenager said. Having sky blue hair, he continued to search the walls of the lobby, his green eyes carefully scanning for anything out of place. A heavy crossbow was slung across his back. "Of course, you may have a point Marthra. Despite the fact that these raths are well-documented and very common, no one have been able to ascertain their method of construction. Also, their capability to changed their layout and level of difficulty depending on which item is offered suggests a magical skill far beyond anything that's possible even today. Whatever the Tuatha de Danann used to create these raths must be a lost art inherited from the Tir Bolg."

"Either that or the Tir Bolg actually built these places and the Tuatha de Danann simply moved in and claimed the credit," Marthra said, shrugging. "Anyway, what happened to the Tir Bolg, Francis?"

Francis simply rolled his eyes. "Well-spoken by someone who never pays attention to history."

"Why should I? They only apply to the Tuatha de Danann."

"History applies to _everyone!_ *Sigh* Anyway, the Tir Bolg and the principle race of the Tuatha de Danann are both humans so they likely interbred and took on the latter's identity after the First War of Mag Tuireadh."

"Whatever that's hidden in Alby may be found further in," Hyperion reasoned as he traced the symbols ringing the base of the goddess statue. "Besides, these symbols matched those found on Myronydas' goblet so we're on the right track at least."

"We still will find nothing different than what we've found here," Cleonis grumbled.

"Oh ye of little faith," Hyperion mused as he went over to the altar and took out a steel dagger. He then held it over the large stone platform. "Let's search this place thoroughly before making the trip back to Tir Chonaill."

Just as he let go of the dagger, Myronydas quickly dove for it, catching it before it landed on the altar. Standing up, she smiled sheepishly at Hyperion and the other Milletians, the former giving her a quizzical look. "Mind explaining why you didn't want me to offer that dagger to the dungeon?" he asked her.

"I was just thinking about this dungeon, about my goblet, and about everything, and I was just wondering to myself, _'Self, if you received this special goblet from Math Dungeon and it led you here then why is nothing else out of order? Why do things appear just normal besides the symbols, symbols no one can read anymore?', _then it hit me: what if there really are secrets here but they're hidden behind some sort of veil? What if whoever built this place decided to hide a secret dungeon in plain sight to keep outsiders out unless they have a key of sorts or prove themselves worthy?"

"That's preposterous!" Francis exclaimed. "These raths are well-documented and-"

"Common throughout Uladh with some even located in Iria despite the Tuatha de Danann's ancestors, the Partholons, never even setting foot there, yes I get it," Myronydas said dismissively. "However, you also admitted that no one still alive today could match the skill of the builders of these dungeons, meaning that we're likely the first people in Erinn in a long time who managed to step this deeply into this mystery."

As he thought this over, Hyperion smiled knowingly as he took the steel dagger from Myronydas. "I can only guess how you plan to break the illusion: offer not any items people nowadays would make but what the true builders of Alby would use. "

"Exactly!" Myronydas grinned as she took out the goblet. "Let's do our best to search this place top and bottom. As you can guess, ancient objects like this are extremely hard to come by. I was only just lucky because it fell into my lap and I wasn't even looking for it." With that, Myronydas tossed the goblet onto the altar. Despite being of an indeterminate age, the goblet held together as it bounced around a bit before settling with a clang.

What happened next will soon be burned into the Milletians' memories for years to come.

The moment the goblet was absorbed by the altar, the entire interior of the lobby literally shattered into thousands of shards, very unlike the smooth and quieter shift in surroundings that characterized normal dungeon runs. Surprised, Myronydas yelped as she covered her eyes with an arm. Suddenly, the air felt warmer and smelled musty. Strange howls echoed in the distance and the very air begin to fill with a strange energy that hung in the air like the static before a lightning strike, causing the small hairs on her neck to stand on end. A rust-colored light shone through what space her arm did not block and filled her sight with the color of blood. Hearing the gasps and murmurs of her companions, Myronydas removed her arm and that's when she saw the statue.

Instead of the typical statue of the black-winged goddess kneeling with her eyes closed and her hands resting on a sword planted into the ground, there was another robed figure in the same pose. However, this inhuman figure was a spindly humanoid with digitigrade legs that ended in toes not too dissimilar to those of the humanoid races of Erinn. The being has four arms, two resting not on the sword but a staff with an ornate head and the other pair stretched above its head as if in praise to an unseen deity. Both pairs of arms were tipped with hands with elongated fingers, each with five joints with the thumbs having four. Its face and head was similar in proportion and appearance to those of a human but that's where the similarities ended. Its eyes were larger and slanted unnaturally toward the nose. A third, much larger eye opened on a vertical axis on the forehead, its pupil resembling those found in cephalopods. The statue's wings were a collection of vein-like masses that reminded Myronydas of a moth's wings, only more extensive and lacking an interconnecting membrane. The strangest thing of all is that the being, for all its otherworldly and frankly creepy appearance, still retained the goddess' hairstyle. _'Perhaps it's something Morrighan herself liked enough to copy, meaning that they knew about all of this,'_ Myronydas reasoned to herself. _'Leave it to the gods to keep us in the dark about these things...'_

All around the lobby's interior, the walls were covered in relief sculptures depicting beings, much like the one kneeling in the center of the lobby, moving blocks of stone using strange implements they held in their four hands as strange flying contraptions ferried more blocks from an unseen location. More of the strange beings assembled the blocks into an archway together with the room lying beyond that looked suspiciously similar to the entrance to and the lobby of the Alby Dungeon itself. As the Milletians took all this in, Cleonis characteristically was the first to voice what the Milletians no doubt were thinking at this very moment.

"What the fuck did we just stumbled into?"

"We stumbled into a place once lost to time but has now been found, a fragment of an age long gone," Hyperion simply said with a small smile. "I pride myself in discovering every secret this world has to offer but I guess even I can still be surprised."

"I stand corrected," Francis said as he took out a piece of paper and pencil and proceeded to draw each section of the lobby. "Marvelous! I'm sure this discovery will make waves in the exploration community."

"It seems the historians of Erinn would have to revise their material," Brianc agreed as he too began sketching, focusing primarily on the strange statue. "I suspect Voight, Hagel, and Belita would give an arm and leg just to be here with us as well."

"Informing the archaeologists is all fine and good but nothing beats public exposure like an eager team of reporters and journalists, amirite?" Myronydas said dreamily as she imagined the possibilities. "Especially concerning a certain investigative journalist wishing to redeem herself for a past… oversight."

"You mean the 'Bangor Fiasco' that everyone is talking about, where you published that story two years ago about some bank manager's little girl having super powers or something like that?" Marthra asked as she stifled a giggle. "I've heard her father was quite upset about that and the Aliech Times made you go back to that shit-hole and apologize to him. So classic!"

"Do you have to bring that up now of all the times?!" Myronydas whined. "Do you know how long I had to cook and clean for him just to make up for my mistake? _Two weeks._ Essentially two years of servitude for me! I hate being people's maid!"

"Well you would certainly look good in the outfit," Marthra said, smirking playfully as Myronydas continued to glare at her.

Hyperion broke the exchange with a chuckle. "While I enjoy the banter, perhaps we should continue our expedition. More secrets await us ahead."

"Nevermind the secrets, it seems we have threats waiting for us further in," Cleonis said as he unsheathed and wielded his two-handed weapon. Almost as if on cue, another of the nearly faint strange howls echoed into the lobby. "I may be no zoologist but if I was a betting man I'd bet my hair and beard that no animal I've fought sounds like that."

"He's right," Francis added as he put up his sketches. "If this is truly a new rath and not the same one with the veil removed then there are likely creatures here not found anywhere else in Erinn. Who knows what they're capable of?"

"Well, whatever they can do, we Milletians can handle anything," Hyperion said as he wielded his sword and shield. "Now, let's greet our hosts shall we?"

The six Milletians delved further into the dungeon, most of them marveling at the reliefs sculpted into the walls of the hallways. Arranged in friezes, each sequence depicted more four armed beings sparring with each other with a variety of weapons. Fighters wielding four swords dueled with others grasping two spears. In the background, more beings used several of the flying contraptions as target practice, firing upon them with a variety of ranged weapons. Most of them were using the more familiar bows and crossbows, though some used staves and wands to unleash globs of destructive magic. A few even used strange sticks that fired streams of tiny projectiles out of one end which reminded Myronydas of a skilled gunslinger firing their pistols in rapid succession. However, the strange weapons in question resembled crossbows with their bow arms removed and there was no way to tell whether those beings are firing those weapon that quickly or because of the way the weapons themselves are manufactured. Elsewhere on the walls, buildings that appeared to be marked as targets were blown to pieces by much larger weapons more of the beings crewed. In one section, a lone four armed being seemed to control tinier versions of the flying contraptions with a strange device she held in her lower pair of hands, directing them to perforate what appeared to be practice dummies with a hail of projectiles.

"Based on these sculptures, it appears this place must be where these four-armed people sent their recruits, maybe as a rite of passage or trial," Marthra said as the group continued down the hallway. "Not so different from the Alby Dungeon we know and love."

"Yeah, no kidding," Myronydas agreed. "To think something of this magnitude had been hidden right under our noses all along."

"I have to admit that it's strange no one have ever uncovered or displayed traces of these people," Francis said, wincing as more strange howls echoed through the halls. "People have been conducting archaeology throughout Uladh for centuries, with the discovery and exploration of Iria being a more recent venture in the past few decades, yet _nowhere_ had anyone ever come across evidence that these people even existed. I serious doubt these beings' only achievement is building these raths."

"Maybe the Tuatha de Danann didn't want their own achievements overshadowed by these people so they erased them from the history and archaeology books," Cleonis suggested.

"Maybe these people existed long before the Fomorians and Partholons came into the picture and had removed every trace of themselves to avoid freaking everyone out with their freakishness until the time is right," Myronydas said, shrugging before turning to Hyperion. "What about you Hyperion, what do you think?"

The dark-skinned Milletian smiled slyly. "Oh, I have dozens of theories alright but only one would suffice. Let's say that, hypothetically speaking of course, there exist a secret organization who are not only aware of these four-armed people's existence but the implications of such a find should it end up in the public eye. People would begin questioning everything they've be brought up to believe. People would become more distrustful of historians and of leaders both religious and secular, assuming that they're hiding things from them in order to exercise control over them. Some people may even come to the conclusion that they are the _descendants_ of these beings, trapped in shorter and two armed bodies, and awaiting the day in which they _pop _and revert back to their true forms. When you try to combine world-shattering revelations with people not yet ready to accept them, total anarchy will be an understatement."

"That is just stupid!" Myronydas grumbled. "No matter how big this secret organization is, there is no way it can keep a secret this big hidden for so long! It can't watch everybody and people always talk!"

"I agree with Myronydas on this one," Cleonis said.

Hyperion simply shrugged. "I did say it's a theory after all and yes people talk. Well, when you're a secret organization whose purpose is maintaining the masquerade, you would want to keep a closer eye on those whose profession is the discovery and distribution of information. Archaeologists, scientists, reporters, even any Average Joes or Janes who stumble into things they're not supposed to know, you'd kill those you can and wipe the memories of those you cannot kill permanently. Have any of you heard about these four-armed beings prior to coming here? Well, now you know they'd succeeded."

"And you believe this secretive group really exists?" Marthra asked him.

"Who knows? Maybe they really exist or maybe it's a mere coincidence," Hyperion said before turning to Myronydas. "However, if my theory is correct then I strongly suggest you tread carefully, my dear investigative reporter. You may have caught their attention just by visiting that curator in Dunbarton."

Myronydas flashed Hyperion a smug smirk. "If these secretive assholes want to try something then I'll be ready for them. Whoever they are, I don't think they have any immunity against bullets!"

Hyperion laughed. "Take care you don't bite off more than you can chew."

The group finally exited the hallway and entered a room that was a bit larger than the lobby. Like the halls, the walls was also decorated with depictions of the strange beings' activity. However, the beings appeared to be battling creatures of the like no one have ever seen in Erinn. Some of the creatures appears to have reptilian and avian features while others resembled strange insects with either too many legs and wings for comfort or outgrowths that resembled weapons. A few even looked nothing like any creatures Myronydas have ever met and fought against. Whatever that could be said about the gods, helpful or otherwise, whichever of them created these strange beasts certainly has the feverish creativity of a madman. At each corner of the square room sat a stone obelisk with strange glowing markings on its six longer faces. Though she cannot read the language carved into the faces, a deep sense of dread welled up inside Myronydas as a painful realization dawned on her. After all, she'd ran too many dungeons to not know where this would lead.

"I fucking hate this room," she finally said.

"Why? I think it's one of those dungeon rooms where only one of the orbs opens the door while the others traps you inside with monsters it will then spawn," Marthra replied.

"I know what you mean, it's just that I think Lymilark loves tormenting me."

"Let me guess: most of the time you hit all three orbs that spring the trap," Hyperion said, stifling a laugh.

"Exactly!" Myronydas exclaimed as she threw her arms into the air. "Though me activating the orbs 'most of the time' is an understatement. I activated them _all the time_!"

"Perhaps it was a good thing to accompany you after all," Cleonis said with a grin. "More monsters to slay so that I can get stronger!"

"That's easy for you to say. It's become harder for me to learn or retain new knowledge concerning my skills," Brianc grumbled, folding his arms. "Weeks of heavy fighting in the Shadow World and already I have to go Rebirth."

"Same here," Francis added. "In fact I'm Rebirthing after this dungeon crawl."

"Yeah, my skills with the pistols are becoming harder to improve so I'll Rebirth soon," Myronydas said as she cracked her knuckles. "Anyway, let's get this over with."

"Seconded," Hyperion said.

The Milletians readied their weapons and after a short discussion chose one of the obelisks to stand next to. Walking toward the strange, five foot tall object, Myronydas stared at it and took a deep breath. "Lymilark, don't fail me now." she finally said as she gave the obelisk a swift kick.

Immediately, the massive grates of the room slammed shut and a strange pop of crackling energy erupted behind them, flooding them with blue light. A great disturbance rippled through the air and the group sensed several presences behind them. Sighing, Myronydas took a deep breath and released it in a hiss of frustration.

"How dependable, as expected of the god of love!" she said sarcastically as she and the others turned around slowly.

Hovering about six feet in the air were five creatures that looked as if they belonged in another world. About eight feet across, each creature resembled purple-tinged jellyfish with mantles shaped like five-pointed stars. Its tentacles wafting in the air like wisps of hair, each creature has veins on its skin that flowed with glowing, bluish energy. Its mantle's skin was translucent enough to reveal what appeared to be organs beneath the surface. The air around the strange creatures warped as unseen energies traveled through it, occasionally revealing themselves as arcs of purple electricity that streaked across their bodies.

"It's a good thing we didn't stay in the middle of the room when we activated the obelisk," Hyperion said as he glanced at a stray tentacle drifting in his direction.

"What strange creatures," Francis replied. "Since we're the first in Irinid knows how long to come across them, what do you guys propose we call them?"

"Let's test out their capabilities then we'll figure it out," Brianc said as he took out a javelin and notched it onto his atlatls. The javelin thrower was carved from oak wood and decorated with intricate blue markings. A large emerald gem was inserted into its head. "Be care not to allow the tentacles to touch any unprotected skin. We don't know how our Milletian physiology would hold up to their toxins."

"Isn't most Milletians just as susceptible to poisoning as the Tuatha de Danann?" Marthra asked.

"We got plenty of antidotes so who cares?" Myronydas said as she wielded her twin pistols. "They're still monsters no matter where they're from! Less talking, more killing!"

Aiming at the nearest creature, the red-haired Milletian fired a salvo into its gelatinous body. The creature gave off what could be considered a surprised warble as the mana bullets slammed into its side, releasing wisps of glowing blue liquid. Quivering, the creature formed a corona of crackling purple energy around itself. Before she could wonder what was happening, Myronydas gave a surprised yelp when the creature fired a beam of purple and blue energy that knocked her off her feet and slammed her into the wall behind her. Crumpling like a marionette cut of its strings, Myronydas gave a groan as smoke rose from a large scorch mark at the center of her tunic.

Immediately, the other Milletians launched an assault on the creature. As Francis and Brianc launched projectiles at it, Hyperion, Cleonis, and Marthra sliced away at its tentacles in order to get to its main body, ignoring the tinging spreading over their skin as their hairs stood on end. A second beam was deflected by Hyperion's shield, though the force of impact caused him to stumble. Taking advantage of this, the creature drifted a clutch of tentacles toward the Milletian. Before they could wrap around him, Cleonis sliced into them with a ferocious stroke, slicing them loose. He screamed when his left leg suddenly became ablaze with excruciating pain, as if someone had wrapped a string of super-heated copper around it. Looking down, Cleonis saw that a stray tentacle has wrapped around his leg. Gritting his teeth, he unsheathed a dagger and cut himself free. Angry red welts were revealed as the last bits of tentacles were cut away and the affected skin was beginning to swell. Cleonis also noticed that his leg was becoming stiff.

"I need some antidote over here!" he called out to the other Milletians as he pulled away from the monster.

"Right behind you!" Myronydas replied, tossing him a bottle of the pink liquid. Catching the bottle, Cleonis uncorked it and gulp it down, wincing at the bitter aftertaste. However, though the antidote kept his leg from getting even more stiff, it did nothing to abate it.

"The potion is barely working!" Cleonis growled as he threw the empty glass bottle at the creature. The receptacle simply bounced off its gelatinous body and shattered in hundreds of pieces when it hit the stone floor.

"Then let us attack them up close, Cleonis!" Marthra called out to him. "You're the only close combatant wearing shorts after- AAAUUGH!" Marthra screamed when the creature sent tendrils of bluish electricity coursing into her body. Convulsing, she was blasted a few meters away.

"Marthra, are you okay?" Hyperion called out to her as he sliced off a clump of tentacles the creature pushed his way. Smoke rising from her scorched clothes, Marthra gave a weak smile as she raised a thumbs up into the air.

"It'll take more than freak electricity to take down this Milletian," the ginger-haired Milletian said.

"This creature is tougher than we thought and we can't get too close to it due to the tentacles," Brianc said as he pierced the creature with two more javelins. Putting up his atlatls, he wielded his spiked knuckles and glanced at the other creatures. despite their kin being attacked, the monsters seemed to be ignoring them as they drifted slowly around the room. "Good thing we're not being ganged up on though."

"Of course, we'd run out of stamina and ammo at this rate should we encounter more of these things in the future." Francis said as he focused some mana into a loaded bolt. The projectile glowed like metal being put into a furnace and a small wind wrapped around it like a cocoon. When the elven Milletian pulled the trigger, the magnum shot flew in a blur like a comet and slammed into the body of the creature. The force of the impact sent the creature careening in the air like a balloon before it fell to the ground on its back. Warbling furiously in distress, the creature vibrated as its tentacles shrank violently.

Wordlessly, Brianc, Hyperion, and Marthra looked at each other before charging the downed creature at once. Placing himself in front of the others, Hyperion used his shield to block a mass of tentacles the creature sent toward him. He then pushed them to the side, allowing Marthra to race in and slice off any stray tentacles. No longer protected by its tentacles, the creature could only wait as Brianc drew back a fist and sent it effortlessly through its body. Brionc's face twisted into a disgusted scowl as he felt his skin brush against its slimy innards. Feeling something giving off a rapid but rhythmic vibration, he reached for it and clasped his fingers around it. With a tug, the giant Milletian ripped the organ free.

The creature gave off a pitiful warble before going limp. As it slowly liquified, Brianc opened his hand and noted the size of the heart. "It's small enough to be held by a human child with one hand," he finally said to himself.

"No wonder the others had a hard time bringing it down with ranged attacks," Marthra said as she watched Brianc tilt his hand and pour the now liquid remains of the heart onto the floor. "That's too small of a target to hit, especially underneath all that meat."

"At least we know that being knocked down stuns it and makes it less of a threat," Hyperion said as Myronydas and Francis rejoined them. Cleonis soon followed, dragging his paralyzed leg.

"So how did you manage to kill it?" Myronydas asked.

"As Cleonis would say if he was in my position, I'd ripped out its fucking heart," Brianc said matter-of-factly.

"It was quite small and well hidden," Hyperion explained. "That, combined with the paralysis-inducing tentacles, helped ensured that this creature can last against multiple opponents far longer than it has any right to while being able to retaliate effectively. I seriously doubt we can just bum-rush these things like we could with most of Erinn's typical fauna."

"Either that or a liberal application of firepower meant to vaporize them," Myronydas added before giving off a sigh. "Too bad we don't have a mage or alchemist on our team though."

"Barring the possibility of these things coming from another universe, do you think the builders of these raths were capable of creating them in the first place?" Francis asked.

"While I doubt anyone would know how to artificially create life, these people obviously know how to build these places so I wouldn't put it pass them," Hyperion answered.

"Nevermind the creatures," Marthra said as she straightened her charred armor. "I bet the other dungeons or raths as Francis keeps calling them are nothing more than facades to hide places like this one. However, I don't get why the builders would go so far as to hide these places behind a veil."

"Mysteries upon mysteries, we'd find out soon enough. Right now, we'll rest before taking on the other creatures," Hyperion said as he took a mat out of his pack and rolled it onto the floor. Needless to say, the others joined him and chatted with each other as they tended to their wounds and devised their tactics for the next fight.

* * *

Shyllien Nature Reserve, Connous.

As mana swirled around the blasted oak wand in her right hand, Sakurami peered at the two shyllien crystals in her other hand. Extracted from a clump of mutated plants, which lay withered at her feet, the strange purple crystals were once in a liquid form before the process of extracting them in the first place used concentrated mana energy to crystallize them. As expected, the shyllien crystallized without any defects.

Putting the shyllien in a small pouch with those she collected earlier, Sakurami returned to the labs and searched for a magic cauldron not currently being used. Finding one, Sakurami ignited a fire underneath it and filled it with water. As the water heated up, the elven Milletian reached into her pack and took out several bundles of herbs which were then sorted by color to form three groups. There were the bloody herbs which were commonly sought after by healers to brew healing potions from their red leaves, the bluish mana herbs which is needed for potions no mage would want to go without and finally the poison herbs, herbs with purple leaves that she had to buy from a Milletian due to being so hard to find. However, it could be made into a poison that one can coat on their weapons to give them an edge in fights. She then proceeded to peel the colorful leaves off each bundle. By the time the water began to boil, Sakurami had created a pile of red, blue, and purple leaves on the ground.

Sakurami gathered up the leaves and dump them all into the cauldron. As the leaves cooked, they dissolved into swirls of colors that she proceeded to mix together into an off blue color with a long-handled ladle. As the water begin to boil away, the mixture thickened until the ladle itself got stuck in the now spongy but solidified substance. Sakurami grasped the handles of the cauldron with wads of thick cloth and set it onto the ground, being careful not to get too close to the fire. Wielding her guard cylinder, Sakurami gave the side of the cauldron a good whack. Immediately the hard substance collapsed to the bottom in a fine blue powder. Filling a few small pouches with the stuff, Sakurami dropped a few shyllien crystals into the cauldron and filled it with water, She then placed the cauldron back on the fire.

Dusting off the bit of the powder that got on her clothes, Sakurami held her breath to avoid breathing in the strange substance. Having an odor that reminded one of a library full of dusty and moldy books, the powder that is known by many names but is commonly given the nickname 'Powder X' is a substance whose properties are scarcely known even to this day. Some theorized that it is the powdered form of mana extracted from the herbs used in its production in a process similar to the one the blasted oak wand uses to extract shyllien from the mutated flora and fauna in the reserve while others believed it's a substance that's been 'corrupted' by the shyllien itself that went into the cauldron's manufacture. Despite this, some people have taken to swallowing or even snorting lines of Powder X in order to boost their intelligence especially when casting powerful spells to boost their reserves and ability. While Sakurami is tempted to do so, she eventually decided against it as Powder X have been commonly known to cause permanent brain damage in Tuatha de Danann on the first use as soon as the effect wears off and, in the case of Milletians, temporary but more severe brain damage that can persist through several deaths and resurrections. There are even rumors that _Rebirthing_ can't get rid of this affliction. Not really worth it anyway.

As Sakurami waited for the mixture to cook, Stacee sauntered over with a big grin on her face. She held by the chain what appeared to be a rabbit foot. The fur had patches of slightly lavender fur and specks of dry purple blood on the digits. In her other hand, the human Milletian rested her sword on her shoulder. Glancing at the cauldron before turning back to her, Sakurami smile slightly before being the first to speak, "Let me guess, you've made a lucky find, pardon the pun."

"You got that right!" Stacee beamed as she held up the rabbit paw. "I found this inside a mutant rabbit I'd just gutted. Given that you told me these creatures are cannibals, I guess it thought it wanted a tasty leg from its cousin or something."

"Certainly, though it and the rest of the creatures in this nature reserve would also eat a person alive if they get a chance, despite the fact that there's plenty of plants here to eat," Sakurami pointed out. "Maybe they tasted blood some time ago and liked it?"

"Well they can damn well try. This little ankle-biter tried to and got a meal with a sharp taste for its trouble." Stacee turned her left leg to reveal the twin pairs of scratches on the greave. "A typical rabbit would usually run _away_ from creatures many times its size, not try to eat them."

"Well, at least you got something valuable for your trouble."

"Another reason why dealing with dangerous creatures are worth it," Stacee said as she put the long chain around her neck. Tucking the rabbit foot into her breastplate, Stacee turned her attention toward the cauldron. "If you're cooking a meal then that honestly doesn't look very appetizing."

"That's because it's not a meal," Sakurami replied as she stirred the mixture. The shyllien had already dissolved with Powder X and pinkish crystals were beginning to grow. "It's the intact form of shyllien. Once finished, I will conduct some experiments with it."

"Are you trying to make a special bomb, like the one you used to blow up those desert ghosts earlier?"

"While it's tempting to do so, I'm actually intending to manufacture a type of projectile that is capable of dealing significant damage to a single, large target. This would be a boon should we go dungeon crawling."

"Well, you might want to make it quick because the elven Tuatha de Danann are getting ready to attack those desert ghosts."

"Hmm, in that case I would have to conduct the experiments tomorrow morning then. I still will write the notes though."

"I'll be waiting in Filia then." Thinking for a moment, Stacee continued, "Anyway, once we finished this nighttime errand for this Empress Castanea character, what will we do next?"

Watching the crystals grow, Sakurami took a deep breath. "Assuming the pretentious bitch doesn't muscle me into doing anymore chores, I planning to travel to Tir Chonaill to go to Sidhe Sneachta in the north. I have a feeling I must go there."

"Sidhe Sneachta?" Stacee asked incredulously. "What brought this on? This seems a bit out of the blue."

"A strange vision involving a woman and something about us carrying 'the quill of destiny' or something. She claimed that we're needed to protect Erinn from something."

"We're Milletians! We're _always_ protecting Erinn, mainly from the Fomorian bastards!"

"True but I have a feeling that whatever we're supposed to be fighting could be bigger than anything the Fomorians can throw at us. Anyway, have you received the vision yet? I'm sure that I'm not the only Milletian who did."

Stacee shook her head. "Nah, I received no such message from our strange woman friend."

Sakurami rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm, either you'll receive the vision later or our quill carrying friend is starting an exclusive club consisting of certain Milletians."

"So she's only choosing a certain number of Milletians then," Stacee concluded, frowning. "Why, she doesn't trust all of us?"

"Maybe she doesn't want to draw too much attention. We still don't know who our enemies are, after all. Anyway, do you want to come with me?"

"Well, I do have to catch up with Malcolm so I might as well come too. Maybe I'll get to meet this woman too."

"Good, I'll catch up to you in Filia," Sakurami said.

Giving her a nod, Stacee turned and left the reserve. Turning back to the cauldron, Sakurami waited until the liquid mixture have completely formed into the intact shyllien. Extinguishing the fire, she removed the cauldron and used the ladle to break apart the crystals. despite being clumped together in a mass, the crystals retained their long octahedral shapes.

"Perfect cleavage of intact shyllien," Sakurami noted as she opened her pack and took out her notebook and pencil. Flipping to an unused page, Sakurami sat down in a nearby chair and proceeded to jot down some notes:

_*Subject: Anti-Large Target Intact Shyllien-based Projectile_

_*Question: What sort of weapon can be made to more easily take out titanic targets?_

_*Research/Observation: Widely known as the original form of shyllien, intact shyllien when liquified has the peculiar ability to form a protective shell around the fibers of and on the surface of any materials it drenches when exposed to a dose of pure mana, meaning that it has applications in the manufacture of magical armor. However, when exposed to pure mana, __crushed_ _intact shyllien forms a very dense, foam-like material that increases the toughness of whatever object it is made into. Items such as the magic cauldrons and high-density mana bullets are made with crushed intact shyllien. Cores of crushed intact shyllien can be made to create powerful magical weapons such as savage wands and even the blasted oak wands needed to extract shyllien in the first place. Such a form of intact shyllien can have applications in battle when dealing with large foes._

_*Hypothesis: By using crushed intact shyllien to craft a projectile similar to a high-density mana bullet but large enough to fit into an alchemical cylinder, one could obtain a means of taking down massive enemies such as trolls and even dragons, possibly in a single hit. Furthermore, the head of the proposed projectile can be shaped according to the target, with a hollowed out head useful for imparting the impact force over a wider area to cause severe internal damage to tissues and bones and a pointed head useful in penetrating armor for example._

_*Prediction: If this anti-large projectile is made to essentially function as a scaled up high-density mana bullet, the increased impact force should be sufficient to smash through any natural protection the target have._

_*Experimentation: To create a working version of this proposed projectile, the following goals are essential to its success:_

_1\. The projectile must be light enough to be launched at a reasonable distance by the cylinder while remaining portable._

_2\. The projectile must demonstrate that its striking power is effective against its intended targets._

_3\. The projectile must be manufactured with versatility in mind to better reflect the types and capabilities of its targets and other conditions._

_4\. The construction of the projectile must be as efficient as possible to limit time and materials needed without sacrificing effectiveness._

Making a few sketches of the proposed projectile, Sakurami closed her notebook and put everything back into her backpack. Tying the cooling intact shyllien into bundle, she placed them into her backpack and left the nature reserve. Soon, she reached Filia and headed toward the town plaza to find a large gathering of elven soldiers and Milletians preparing for the assault on the desert ghost settlement in the Errans Gorge. In the rust-colored light of the sunset, their white and red uniforms made them look ominous, almost as if foretelling their role in the amount of bloodshed expected to happen tonight. As far as Sakurami could tell, only a few people wore no uniforms: Stacee, Atrata, herself and a few other people.

"Took you long enough," Stacee said, smirking as Sakurami approached her. "I was worried you'd gone off to take a look at the cave of artifacts without me."

"That place is too heavily guarded by the Royal Guard so why bother?" Sakurami said, shrugging.

"Would've been fun to sneak pass them anyway."

"And get jailed by the empress, not likely," Atrata cut in.

"Incarceration will never stifle our level of curiosity," Sakurami replied before turning to the chief healer. Wearing leather armor over her dress, Atrata looked as if she would rather be somewhere else. "Anyway, you're actually coming with us? You're less suited for battle and you're the chief healer after all."

"It's not like I have a choice," the elf grumbled, drooping her head. "Castanea wants me to accompany this army. She probably wants me nearby because of my medical expertise."

"Or maybe to have a punching bag nearby when things don't go her way," Sakurami said helpfully, ignoring Stacee's disapproving glare.

"What my friend meant to say is that-" Stacee was just beginning to say when Atrata held up a hand to stop her.

"It's okay, Sakurami is right in a way. Usually though, I'm Castanea's chew toy regardless of her mood."

"It's good to see that you remembered your place."

The three women turned to face Castanea, who wore red and white silk robes that covered a leather cuirass with a curved iron plate on the chest. She held a silver staff with strange markings on the surface and a head that could be described as a polyhedral-shaped black stone contained within a glass globe. Golden markings covered the transparent material. Accompanying her were six Royal Guards clad in silver light armor and white capes. Sakurami raised an eyebrow when she saw none other than Granites among them, a white and red longbow slung across his back.

As Atrata became nervous, Sakurami pointed at Castanea's staff. "I take it you're planning to accompany us tonight?" she asked before tilting her head. "You still remember how to avoid getting killed, right?"

"Oh, I can avoid getting killed alright, more than you can possibly understand," the elven empress responded, smiling smugly. "Sitting on a bunch of power that some wonderful strangers revealed to you would do that."

"And you'd never wondered whether these 'archaeologists' have had some ulterior motives for doing so."

"I'm not worried about them and, besides, I can handle anything anyone throw at me. I'm the one in control here, no one else," Pausing for a moment, Castanea continued. "Besides, you're a bigger annoyance than anyone else. Consider my allowing you to fight with us instead of exiling you or worse my way of tolerating you."

"Of course I was… 'persuaded' to fight in your little battle but very well, I'll fight for you, my puppet empress."

Suddenly, the crowd became silent and the elven Milletian felt everyone's stares boring into her. Next to her, a small gasp escaped Stacee's lips and Atrata appeared to be bracing for the worst. A flash of anger passing her eyes, Castanea twitched before taking a deep breath and smiling. However, her hand was gripped around her staff tightly. "You're quite outspoken for one who's standing before someone with the power to make your life a living hell, my dear Milletian, considering our chat hours ago concerning your unique perception of time and a fate worse than death. I trust that you will fight as good as you can backtalk. Now make your preparations because we'll be leaving soon." With that, Castanea turned on a heel and headed toward a group of covered wagons. Glaring at Sakurami, the Royal Guards followed their empress.

As the crowd began to murmur among themselves, Stacee turned to give Sakurami a stern look. "What was that about? Pissing off the leader of a country is a surefire way of getting your day ruined."

"Trust me Stacee," Sakurami said as she checked her cylinders. "If you only knew what kind of person she is, you would not mind knocking her down a peg or two."

"Castanea doesn't like people who aren't easy to control, especially if they outright make it clear that she has no power over them," Atrata added.

"I'm just stating the facts."

"Of course, but are you sure about this? Castanea is an empress after all. Getting on her bad side could bite you in the ass later, Sakurami."

"The alternative is becoming a doormat and my intellect is too important to comprehend duping myself into debasement."

"I wish I was that brave but the empress tends to make good on her threats," Atrata said as she put on her hood and turned to leave. "Anyway, I've got to go. She'd probably want me nearby."

"Now do you see why I stand up to Castanea?" Sakurami said, motioning to Atrata as the chief healer left to catch up with the empress. "I would just become a second Atrata."

"Easy for you to say, you're a _Milletian_!" Stacee hissed. "You can travel wherever you pleased, serve whoever you want, get stronger and more skilled, and never stay dead or age. A Tuatha de Danann never has that luxury!"

"Regardless, Atrata needs to stand up for herself or the empress will keep taking advantage of her."

"How are you so out of touch with those we are meant to protect, Sakurami? Do you even have a shred of compassion for Atrata?"

"I've never had anything for such people, at least after… _that_ happened," Sakurami paused for a moment as a knot formed in her throat. Her arms quivered and her legs felt as if they could give out at any minute. Quickly composing herself, she forced down her feelings and continued, "That is why I never get attached to Tuatha de Danann in the first place."

"Sakurami..." Stacee breathed.

"Besides, they make poor rulers too," someone interjected.

Both Milletians whirled to face the speaker. Wearing a black and gold robe, the bronze-skinned, elven Milletian looked between the two of them, his amber eyes assessing them in a manner not too dissimilar to a biologist examining the entrails of a dissected toad. His curly black hair with red highlighted tips danced in the breeze. His ears were a lot shorter than Sakurami's, resembling more like equilateral triangles.

"While I would've preferred a more reasonable ruler than Castanea, that claim is pretty much an over-generalization," Sakurami spoke first, narrowly her eyes slightly. "In fact, I'd would've preferred Duncan, the village chief of Tir Chonaill-"

"I'm quite aware who Duncan is but it is irrelevant to my affirmation, which you called a 'claim'," the Milletian interrupted, smirking. "Regardless, it still stands: 'The Tuatha de Danann are poor leaders.' "

"Um, who might you be and why do you think so?" Stacee asked, folding her arms.

"Oh, my apologies! I am Jabir my fellow Milletians and I'm also a capable alchemist," Jabir pulled up his billowing sleeves, revealing his cylinder pair. Unlike Sakurami's common gear; however, Jabir's weapons were gold with rain drop-shaped turquoise and emerald patterns. Unlike the kite shield attached to Sakurami's guard cylinder, Jabir's attached shield is circular with a single spike protruding from the center. He then let his sleeves drop. "As for my statement, allow me to explain: the Tuatha de Danann aren't so much as poor leaders due to not knowing how to rule over others as they are poor leaders due to the unfortunate complication of ruling over people who are in many ways… naturally superior to them. In other words, they're an inferior people ruling over superior people and it's admittingly, what's the phrase, '_ass backwards_'?

"Racist much?" Stacee scowled at the Milletian in disgust. Sakurami simpiy raising an eyebrow.

"The mad chattering of a fool," the elven Milletian finally said, giving him a flat stare. "You'll find plenty of Milletians and Tuatha de Danann lining up to pound you to dust for driveling that nonsense.

Jabir simply held up his hands in defense. "Haha, political incorrectness aside, one only has to consider a few things in order to understand the perspective I embrace. On one hand, you have the Tuatha de Danann: a race of humans, elves, and giants who cannot Rebirth, stay dead when killed, grow old, and are typically no match for all but the below average of Fomorians unless they outnumber them significantly. When you have a leader with those weaknesses, you get a weak and pathetic person who will never live long enough to become inhumanly skilled even if they're not limited by some sort of physiological or mental threshold. On the other hand, you have us: a race of souls from Nao knows where placed into the bodies of humans, elves, and giants, fully aware of our capability to make our mark on the world. We can become highly skilled in many areas and can Rebirth in case it becomes too hard to do so, we always come back from the dead, age is nothing but a number to us, and all but the greatest Fomorians dread facing us in battle. If we rule, Erinn will have a race of eternal, supernaturally skilled, and god-like rulers who will lead it to a new golden age without being subjected to a weak race who are always engaging in petty squabbles and sword-waving."

"You seem to forget that due to Rebirthing frequently, we Milletians tend to lack the long term life experience necessary to govern people well, which is why we still not holding any seats of power,"  
Stacee growled. As the three Milletians continued their discussion, the crowd have long since dispersed, most of them preparing for the battle tonight. Already, Palala was halfway pass the horizon and Eweca and Ladeca, Erinn's two moons, were becoming more visible.

"Besides, one doesn't have to be a Milletian to be a proper leader. Just look at Captain Andras, Admiral Owen, and even Duncan. They're Tuatha de Danann and even they possess their own strengths," Stacee continued.

Jabir simply scoffed. "Pffft, you truly think those three mattered in the grand scheme of things? You truly feel that the praetorian captain of a city that have had frictional history with the Aliech Crown, an admiral-turned-governor of an independent island nation whose only worth is its navy and merchants, and the old, dusty chief of a minor city-state that's shut off from the world could actually make a difference in the world? Meanwhile, Erinn's fate remains in the hands of three powerful but ill-suited people who are too consumed by their own personal issues and goals to steer this world into the path it is meant to go. You have a xenophobic king ruling in the north, eager to restore whatever pride the giants lost in the war, an elven empress on the rise who's eager to conquer the world to satisfy her own pride and ambition, and finally, a spoiled child-queen ruling an entire continent across the sea who, if the rumors are true, is suffering from declining mental health. You may claim that the Tuatha de Danann are most suited to ruling Erinn than our kind, my fellow Milletians, but never forget that there are fools among them as well. It's a crime against nature for idiots to be in charge while the more sensible languish under their rule, after all."

"While I can't help but to agree with you on that, do you realize that there isn't a Milletian anywhere in Erinn who would know how to rule over people even if they're interested in doing so?" Sakurami asked him. "Unless you know a group of Milletians who can do a better job, you might as well forget about it."

"And even if you do, I wouldn't want to serve them if they held the same views you do," Stacee added.

"That's the funny thing, my fellows," Jabir paused when the horns blew the mustering call. "Well, it's time to go fight the desert ghosts, ladies. Remember: we Milletians got to stick together."

As the two Milletians watched Jabir disappear into the crowd, Stacee turned to Sakurami. "Can you believe that dumbass?" she asked her. "He's really confident that our people has some intrinsic right to rule over others and do as we please!"

Sakurami shrugged. "While it is true that there are too many idiots running things, it's not like _we_ can all of a sudden know how to run things anyway. Besides, not wasting time ruling means more time doing things we actually enjoy."

"I know but the way he regarded the people we are meant to protect, _ugh_! I can't stand people who think they're better than other people by virtue of being different! I've met too many Milletians who believed that shit! Why can't we all view each other as equals?"

"Let those ignorami believe what they want; it's not like they're going to just give up the simpler existence of adventuring just to settle down and rule over millions of people anyway. I'm sure that after a week of being a king our fool Jabir would be begging to be replaced."

With a deep sigh, Stacee gave Sakurami a small smile. "I'm sure you're right, Sakurami. Sure you're a bit detached but at least you're not cold-hearted. It's good that there are people in the world who still care about others."

Sakurami returned the smile. "While I wouldn't go so far as to be _that_ sympatheticsince I'm just merely stating the facts, I suppose it has its uses."

"Regardless, it's preferable to not caring at all!" Stacee said as she hugged Sakurami. Becoming rigid for a second, the elven Milletian allowed herself to relax a bit before returning the hug. "Come, let's rejoin the others. Perhaps if we make our way to the front of the group we can be the first to loot whatever treasure the desert ghosts stole."

"A few bags of coins are always nice, though I can't wait to get this over with. I would like to start my experiment in the morning."

Stacee laughed. "Maybe the desert ghost stole some items that can help you."

"In that case," Sakurami replied as she watched the sun dip further into the horizon. "I have much expectation that tonight will be a great night."

* * *

Vales, Physis.

Making a pit stop at Wabst's bar, Karzetra dropped off the bear meat and received her payment. Leaving the bar, she glanced at a nearby Cessair serviceman chatting with a pair of guards. At first, the giant Milletian considered passing the letter to him instead. After all, one of his comrades died of hypothermia shortly after enter Physis with some vital news. However, after a few minutes of debating internally with herself, Karzetra decided to follow her original decision of informing the king first. Besides, though Karzetra herself didn't approve of Krug's obsession with giant supremacy and paranoia directed at non-giants, he was one of the people she could trust. The Cessair can always be informed of the death of one of their members later.

Walking to the palace, Karzetra noted that despite Vales growing to three times its size, King Krug have only been content with adding a few large additions to the building here and there but otherwise maintaining its austere look much to the chagrin of Queen Kirine. Unsurprisingly, the king favored utility over décor. Walking over to the two guards, Karzetra cleared her throat and stated the reason for her visit. With a shrug, they let her through the massive doors. As Karzetra walked down the halls, portraits of past members of the Seerbarsch Dynasty stared at her stoically, maintaining their silent vigil over their former home. On the other end of the hall sat one of the castle's secretaries who was busy rifling through ledgers and other documents. Karzetra's heavy footsteps alerted him to her presence and he sat straight up and adjusted his suit.

"How may I be of assistance?" he asked her. despite his warm smile, Karzetra can see dark bags underneath his eyes.

"Ah yes, I have something to show His Majesty. It's very important that he receive it as soon as possible."

"In that case, you're welcome to leave it here with me," the secretary replied as he straightened up a pile of papers.

Karzetra glanced at a messy stack. Though she was too far away to make out the entire contents of the uppermost sheets of paper, she could make out 'Hillwen Production Invoice' and 'Cessair Reports'. "Um, perhaps you should sit this one out. You seem to have too much to do anyway. Must be quite busy now that Vales has more people."

"You're telling me, though it's not the population that's keeping me awake. The king is planning some huge project involving hillwen and other metals and the Cessair Relief Force are providing some extra hands and expertise. Since production orders come and go from this palace, I'm the one who have to sort through the paperwork and send them to the right people," The giant then sighed. "I would have a team assigned to help me with this but everyone's busy and there's not enough people to go around."

'What's this project about if you don't mind me asking?"

"I don't know, something about complex machines or something? Captain Heimlich is tight-lip about it so there's no use asking about it."

Karzetra raised an eyelid. Normally, the captain of the Coyote Praetorians is an honest giant who tend to look down on secrecy and underhanded moves. For him to bother with keeping a lid on such a project meant its nature is such that even he considered it to be too important to unveil yet, assuming the king didn't order him to do so in the first place. "Fine, I'll drop it for now. However, I still need to give the king a note I found."

The secretary simply shrugged. "Whatever, I'm not in charge of correspondence anyway so go on through the double doors next the me. Don't let anyone other than the king and queen tell you otherwise."

"Thanks for your help and I hope you finally get some sleep," Karzetra said as she opened the door and went inside. To her surprise, Karzetra nearly bumped into none other than King Krug himself, accompanied by two guards. Dressed in white and brown furs, the king of the giants towered over everyone, standing at a healthy 12 feet tall. Apologizing profusely, Karzetra quickly kneel before him as he looked on quizzically. Holding up a hand, Krug gave her a warm smile. The corners of his eyes appeared to be red and he looked tired.

"It's okay, I'd forgive almost any slight from the puppeteer who gave me quite a laugh earlier," Krug said with a light chuckle. Yawning, he continued, "So, what can I do for you, Karzetra?"

Standing up, Karzetra reached into her back and pulled out the letter slowly as to not alarm the guards, who were instinctively reaching for their weapons. She then handed it to Krug. "I found that letter in the hand of a Cessair I found in the south, my lord. She had already died of hypothermia by then. I just thought that you should be the first to know what she wrote."

"A tragedy it happened on my doorstep. I just hope it was worth it..." Krug's facial expression hardened as he read through the letter. "So many things going on and too little time. Dear Irinid, is enough time too much to ask for?"

"My lord, what's going on if I may ask?"

Sighing, Krug continued, "Here we are, on the cusp of restoring our race's prestige using our ancestors' techniques that the Cessair were so kind as to help us find and it seems the elves got a head start! I'm talking about self-moving machines, magic-resistant armor, and even artillery that can launch projectiles using controlled explosions just to name a few and now those pointy-eared fucks had already beaten us to the punch by uncovering their ancestors' magical toys!"

"The elves couldn't possible want a war, right my lord? I mean, both our people are prospering from the peace and even the Erinn Trading Community is feeling safe enough to expand into Iria as a result."

Krug gave a hearty laugh. However, Karzetra can detect the bitter derision in his voice. "See Karzetra, you're thinking like a Milletian. You're hoping that everyone will hold hands, sing together in loving friendship, and just forget about all the grudges, losses, and ambitions of the war. While that sort of thinking is not that far off from what many civilians hope for, in reality we rulers know differently. As a ruler, one must treat even peace as an opportunity to lick one's wounds while planning you next move. The international dance for dominance never ends just because the sword is wiped clean of blood and shit. Sometimes the next war is influenced by moves the players make in peacetime and making the right decisions can mean getting the jump on your foes or starting at a severe disadvantage."

"So, what do you think Castanea will do next?"

"Come, let's take a walk," Krug said as he motioned down the hall. "Just standing here talking draws too much attention."

The Milletian, the king of the giants, and his two guards walked down the hallway, passing by servants and Cessair personnel. As if waiting until no one else was within earshot, Krug continued, "I suspect the elven bitch would try to consolidate more resources by making a move on Rano, which would create tension with the Aliech Kingdom as their settlements, including Port Qilla, are there. If she wants a war with the west, she will first have to take those settlements, though I suspect that's just another objective. I suspect she wants to invade Physis so badly just to finish us off for good. Like a fellatio-obsessed whore, she just won't be able to resist the opportunity to suck us all dry until nothing is left. You just can't trust elves, that is all. That's why I kept Malcon at arm's length."

Cringing at her king's choice of analogy, Karzetra raised an eyebrow. "Do you know Malcon, my lord?"

"Why of course, he is the right hand man of Captain Eduard, the head of the Cessair Relief Force, and a damned elf at that! I'd probably would've send him and his Cessair back to Uladh was he in charge of the whole thing! You can't miss him; he have the longest ears in the force!"

Karzetra perked at she thought back to her performance earlier. "About that, while performing I caught sight of him whispering something into the queen's head while motioning toward you."

Krug wrinkled a brow. In the light, Karzetra noticed that he looked even more haggard than when she nearly bumped into him. Even his eyes were becoming more bloodshot. "_*Yawn*_ What is that shifty elf planning-"

Despite his apparent exhaustion, Krug's face widened in realization. He quickly looked around before grabbing her by an arm, speaking in a low voice as if worried about someone eavesdropping on the conversation. "Tell me Karzetra, is it true you informed no one else about that Cessair's death or the letter you lifted from her corpse even accidentally, especially to Malcon?"

Karzetra winced at the tight grip on her arm but managed to keep herself calm. "I swear on the Irinid herself you are the only person I'm informing about this. Otherwise, anyone else would've taken the letter from me in the first place, my lord."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Krug let go of her arm and continued, "Well, you didn't swear on the Irinid's blood-filled wings _*yawn*_ but I'd accept it."

Ignoring Karzetra's confused look, Krug murmured to himself, "Could They had known? Could Malcom be Their agent?_*Yawn*_ I was careful not to give off any signs that I knew. How much time I have now?"

Turning to face Karzetra, Krug read her worried expression. "Despite the fact that one of the Cessair's colleagues died with information in her hands that they no doubt would've wanted, you chose to report it to your king first, as you should, which means that you can be trusted. You're no doubt wondering what big secret this paranoid king is hiding that some people no doubt want him dead for. Well,… it's best that I show you. Come, it should still be in the royal bedroom. _*yawn*_"

Making sure no one was watching, Karzetra rolled her eyes before following the king to the royal bedroom. Ordering his guards to stand guard at the large pinewood door, Krug motioned Karzetra inside and closed the door behind him. In the light of the Physis sun, Karzetra saw that the king's eyes were almost completely bloodshot and he looked as if he was actively forcing himself to stay awake. "By the Irinid, you look like you haven't slept in days, my lord!" she gasped. "Perhaps we can continue this tomorrow?"

Krug simply shook his head. "Nonsense! I'm just a little tired, that is all. I'm sure that new herb the cook put in my lunch had something to do with it. He says Zeder bought it from the merchants. Perhaps I'll inform him tomorrow that I don't want that herb added to my dishes ever again." Giving off a deep yawn, Krug continued. "Besides, I need to show you something now, otherwise I may not get a chance later,"

Her mask a mask of worry, Karzetra nodded. "Understood, my lord."

"Good," Walking over to a nearby dresser, Krug opened the lowest drawer and reached inside. Karzetra listened to a series of clicks as the king pulled on whatever mechanisms that were blocked from her line of sight. Finally, Krug opened what appeared to be a small lid and pulled something out of the drawer's false bottom. The object in question was small enough to fit inside the palm of a human's hand and wrapped in a white handkerchief. Krug then grabbed the cloth by two fingers and pulled it free, revealing a hexagonal box. The object appeared to be carved from emerald of a darker shade and covered with a net-like matrix of a material that reminded her of brass only that it seemed to glitter in the sunlight. Strange markings lined the edges of the box, their meaning known only to their engravers. A glyph that resembled the plus-sign shaped Celtic knot often seen on the new banners of the Aliech Kingdom was carved in the center of the object.

"A year before the war ended, a detachment of Black Ravens entered the Par Ruins and found themselves sent to a plane of existence nobody knew existed. *y_awn*_ Weird statues and paintings of a different Erinn ruled by a different race of people that existed before even our ancestors, before those of the elves, before everything, were erected there. No one knew how or why they happened upon this instance, though I suspect it may have something to do with whatever item *yawn* they placed on the altar. Anyway, despite being leagues above that of a typical giant soldier and capable of taking on Milletians solo, none of the Ravens were prepared for the monsters that lived in those ruins. In fact, this object," Krug tapped the box with a finger. "Was brought back by the sole survivor of that group. They were slaughtered before they reached the boss room. *yawn* Come to think of it, that could be considered a mercy."

"By the Irinid…," Karzetra breathed. "What happened to the survivor?"

"Shortly after coming back, he went AWOL and was never seen again. He could be wandering the earth as we speak… if They have not gotten a hold of him first."

Not wanting to indulge in the king's antics, Karzetra changed the subject. "So, what does this object do?"

"It sends messages into your head, visions of the world that once was and truths once thought lost to the ages. If you think you can *yawn* handle the truth, just press that symbol on the top for a few seconds. Trust me, it was a bit much for me to take in *yawn* and I'm certain Kirine and Weide felt the same way too. *yawn*"

"If this is the truth then why haven't you revealed it to everybody, if you don't mind me asking?"

Krug scoffed. "And be called crazy? Besides even if I knew that a sizable number of people will believe me, I'm sure They will silence me first. I can only hope that my project comes to fruition so that I can become so powerful They won't dare think to oppose me and succeed. Forcing those damned elves to submit to their giant overlords is just the icing to the cake."

Karzetra mentally rolled her eyes. _'No use in worrying about being called crazy anyway,' _she thought before replying, "Good point, my lord. I'm going to access this device now."

Karzetra held her thumb onto the symbol for a few seconds. The mysterious object soon flashed a bright green light and Karzetra found herself paralyzed as visions filled her mind, being reduced to a mere observer. She saw people and things beyond anything she could imagine. She saw visions of a different world and the ingenuity of its inhabitants. Though she was a bit scared of what she would find out to be true, Karzetra was honesty more awestruck. Why Krug thought They, whoever they are assuming they actually exist, would be interested in keeping all of this hidden was beyond her.

"Wow, these people have things they can control like marionettes without using strings!" she exclaimed excitedly, feeling like a child exploring the world for the first time.

"They sure do," *yawn* Krug was saying when a knock came from the door. "Pardon me, I'm quite certain I'd told those guards I do not wish to be disturbed."

As Krug went to answer the door, Karzetra continued to immerse herself even deeper into the visions. Her brow wrinkled, she blinked in confusion. So deep was she in thought that she was oblivious to the commotion happening behind her. "Hmm, blood-filled wings? That must be the Irinid. She looks… different than I imagined. I'd imagined her to be more… giant-like."

Ignoring the thud behind her, the Milletian focused on a particular vision. Her mouth widened in an O as her brows raised in recognition. "I know this place! Your Majesty, I think this artifact is leading us to..." The coppery tang of blood jerked Karzetra from her vision filled trance and she quickly turned down to face someone she'd never thought she would bump into.

"Unfortunately, your trail ends here Milletian," the man said. Wearing the robes of the Cessair Relief Force, he smirked at her from the shadows of his hood, his green eyes locked onto her like a predator. The telltale bulges on the sides of his hood sent alarms ringing in her head.

"You're Malcon, aren't you?" she muttered.

"Yes and you're a Milletian who will forget what you'd just seen and what the late king just told you," he replied.

Folding her arms, Karzetra gave Malcon a hard stare in order to intimidate him. Of course, it seemed to have a lessened effect given she is in the teenager stage and therefore was only a head or two taller than him. "What makes you think I'm going to forget what I'd just seen?" Pausing, she continued, "Wait, what do you mean 'late king'?"

Giving her a flesh-eating smile, Malcon simply shrugged as he slipped on a pair of glasses with very dark tinting on the lens. "Simple, I'll just make you forget."

Before Karzetra could react, Malcon raised a long object up to her eyes and a bright flask of light filled her vision before darkness took over. In the darkness, Karzetra drifted through the air like a cloud. Light ringing hovered near her ears and her consciousness flowed like water in a stream. As she drifted lazily through the void, Karzetra felt herself lying on an invisible floor. Her hands felt wet and a long hard object seemed to be in her fingers. In a daze, the giant Milletian brought her hand to her face to see what was coating them.

That was when she smelled blood.

Waking with a start, Karzetra quickly bolted to her knees as the darkness quickly gave way to the interior of the royal bedroom. Next to her was an object that appeared to be made of an emerald with a darker shade surrounded by a net of a brass-like material or at least that's what it would've been if it wasn't smashed into thousands of pieces. Gingerly standing up, Karzetra looked down and found a bloodstained knife in her hands. With a squeal, she threw the knife away and stood up, her stomach already turning. Hyperventilating, Karzetra trembling as she stared at her bloody hands before noticing someone lying on the bed. In the receding sunlight lay known other than King Krug himself. His silver and brown furs were stained crimson and his skin were pale. His bloodshot eyes stared lifelessly at the ceiling.

"Wha… what have I done?" she breathed as she frantically tried to wipe the blood off her hands. "Why won't it come off?!"

Someone cleared her throat behind her, causing her to wrench herself from the slain king. Wearing snow leopard and snowfield bear furs, the woman was a bit taller than Karzetra. The sunlight reflected softly off her long cyan hair and pale skin. Her long fingernails were painted in shades of purple, matching the henna underneath each eye and on her forehead. Her lips, painted with purple lipstick, was stretched in a condescending smirk. Her cyan eyes seemed to exude an icy aura, devoid of warmth and mercy.

Her heart leaped into her throat when she recognized the woman. Fighting back tears, Karzetra quickly kowtowed before her. "Please have mercy, your Grace! I don't know how it happened!"

The giant woman, none other than Kirine the Queen of the Giants, simply gave a light scoff of derision before taking in a deep breath and unleashing an ear-piercing scream. "MURDERER! REGICIDE! YOU KILLED MY DEAR HUSBAND! YOU WILL SUFFER FOR THIS!" she screeched in a thunderous voice.

Karzetra gasped when Kirine slammed a fierce kick into her face that sent her into the side of the bed. The jolt caused one of Krug's arms to slip over the edge and touch her head. Pushing the hand away, Karzetra stood back up and pressed both of her hands together in a gesture of supplication. "Please forgive me, my queen-"

Karzetra was cut off when Kirine plowed a fist into her stomach. As Karzetra dropped back to her knees, Kirine reached over and grabbed a fistful of the giant Milletian's hair and dragged her toward the door. Soon enough, the door was yanked open and guards rushed into the room weapons drawn. Their faces flustered in shock when they caught sight of Krug.

"I caught this murderer red handed and she had the audacity to beg me for forgiveness!" Kirine growled as she let go of Karzetra's hair. One of the guards bend down and gingerly picked up the knife Karzetra threw to the side. "Chain her in the dungeons. We'll punish this Milletian severely in the morning!"

Dry heaving, Karzetra didn't even try to resist when the guards forcibly yanked her to her feet and dragged her out of the room.

~~break~~

Dungeons below the palace, 30 minutes later.

Karzetra glanced at her fetters, noting its thickness and age. A chainmail muzzle with leather padding was securely fastened to her face, kept in place with a tumbler lock. Her belongings were taken from her, including her damaged marionette. She was locked in a cell with bars thick enough to withstand a giant's strength though they were close together that a human or elf can't slip through. She deserved all of this, Karzetra reasoned, and she damned well knew it. She remembered being told by Krug that he wanted to show her something and entering the royal bedroom with him. She then remembered experiencing what could be best described as a huge blur before finding herself lying on the floor with a bloody knife in her hands and Krug lying on the bed with multiple stab wounds on his chest. Though she doesn't remember why she decided to kill him, it no longer mattered. She killed a beloved king and Vales will soon cry out for her blood.

Some Milletian she is.

The heavy iron door of the dungeon wing opened and a giant entered briskly. Standing at about 11 and a half feet tall, the giant appeared to be in in his twilight years with his hair and beard as white as snow and his weather-beaten face marked with wrinkles. However, his physique belied a strength much more powerful than that of younger giants and his brown eyes held the knowledge and wisdom only a person in politics would have. A gold medallion rested snugly on the thick, blue and white cloak he wore and a wool cap with a ring of short metal protrusions rested on his head, giving him a regal air.

Recognizing him, Karzetra looked away in shame, expecting him to start yelling at her for murdering Krug. However, no trace of anger was on the elder giant's face. Instead, there were a deep sadness in his expression as he finally arrived at her cell. Resting his large hands on the thick bar, he looked at her with pity and sighed.

"Why is it that good people always take the fall for the actions of evil people?" he finally spoke, breaking the ice. Karzetra remained silent.

Sighing again, the giant leaned closer. "You're probably thinking, _'I must have really fucked up if ol' Weide decided to visit my cell for the express purpose of giving me a stern and long lecture.' _You're probably wondering whether I'm here to pass judgment on you for the assassination of King Krug. Yes, the city of Vales will miss their king, even if he is a bit xenophobic for my taste and yes judgment will be passed alright. However, I will renounce my faith in the Irinid if she ever condones judgment being passed on the wrongly accused while the guilty runs free."

Karzetra straightened with a start and she quickly turned to face Weide, the prime minister of the giants and Krug's personal adviser, who simply responded with a small smile. Motioning for her to come closer, he took out a key and unlocked her fetters and manacles. Massaging her wrist, Karzetra tugged at her muzzle as she gave Weide an expectant look.

"Ummhrm mrph!" she mumbled.

"I apologize but I was unable to get the combination for that lock from the guards without arousing suspicion. Otherwise you could just go back to the Soul Stream by saying whatever it is that you Milletians say in that weird language of yours." Weide said as a thought formed in his head. "Anyway, do you remember attacking Krug?" Karzetra simply shook her head.

"Let's try something else then. Come closer please." As Karzetra complied, Weide unsheathed his dagger and pressed the blade against the palm of his free hand, drawing blood. Before Karzetra could react, Weide suddenly thrusted the newly-made wound at her, stopping just a few inches from her face. Karzetra felt a few droplets of the coppery-scented liquid splatter her skin. With a loud squeal, Karzetra immediately threw herself away from the bar and landed on the stone floor of the cell in a slide. She frantically rubbed her face into a sleeve as Weide looked on. When she finished, she flashed a glare at him.

"Once again I apologize for the discomfort I've caused but that only proves my point," Weide said as he pulled out a white handkerchief and wrapped his bloodied hand with it. "You couldn't have stabbed the king to death because you're hemophobic."

Though a realization seemed to have dawned on her, Karzetra was still a bit confused. With a sigh, she got back up and did her best to convey her feelings to Weide.

"You're probably wondering how you could've gotten blood on your hands anyway. Maybe you were blinded with rage and somehow was able to take out the king?" A scoff escaped the prime minister's lips. "Sure an enraged person would've overpowered anyone else but when it comes down to dealing with the king of the giants at his full peak, you'd still lose, hand down."

Karzetra raised an eyebrow. _"Full peak?"_ she thought. _"What is he talking about? Krug was bone tired."_

Weide lowered his voice as if wary of potential eavesdroppers. "You noticed that Krug didn't seem to be himself, right? Bloodshot eyes? Tiredness?"

A nod from the giant teenager seemed to confirmed his suspicions.

Weide was silent for a moment. "I'd just spoke with the physicians concerning the state of Krug's body and… he was poisoned."

Karzetra's eyes widened in shock. "_He was poisoned?!" _her mind screamed._ "Who could have done something like that_?"

"Presumably someone not strong and brave enough to face him like a true warrior," Weide said as if he could read her mind. "We'd know if someone shot him with a poisoned arrow and Krug would've snapped the neck of anyone coming at him with a poisoned blade so first order of business is questioning the cook on what he ate earlier today. Anyway, you were found in his bedroom and Krug doesn't just let anyone inside. Did he… did he show you the artifact Reinhardt carried from Par Dungeon?"

Karzetra simply shrugged and shook her head. Understanding the gesture, Weide then continued. "So Krug trusted you enough to show you that box but for some reason you can't remember what. Presuming this happened before you were incapacitated for some reason. I'm just going to assume that someone or something wiped your memories of the event. Someone or something who saw fit to crush that emerald box to pieces, to keep an ancient secret safe."

Weide paused when he heard footsteps just outside the dungeon door. Giving her a wink, Weide suddenly begin berating her, calling her a foul murderer and promising a cruel fate worst than death. When the footsteps departed, Weide took a deep breath and gave Karzetra an apologetic smile.

"It seems whoever that was bought my little act. Anyway, I don't have time to explain the details of what they found in the ruins or what the emerald box would've shown you but, by the Irinid's grace, hopefully your memories have only been sealed instead of wiped clean."

Weide simply smiled sadly. "For such a good person to be put in this position by evil forces of which we have no name. The only thing you can do now is make your way to Taillteann and inform the king's sister Karpfen of his death."

A mask of doubt crept onto Karzetra's face and Weide noticed it. "You're probably worried about being blamed for Krug's death. Don't let it get to you too much," Weide simply said as he let go of the bars and straightened up. "Either way, she'd be interested in claiming her brother's throne if only to avoid allowing Kirine to keep it. That ought to put Kirine's plans in a bind. Besides, getting skewered by Karpfen have got to be a better fate for a Milletian than being gagged and encased in a block of pykrete and placed inside the Cave of the Silenced."

Karzetra shuddered at the thought. She'd made the misfortune of sneaking into the cave one time and… let's just say the less said about it the better. A whimper escaped from her lips as she shuddered.

"Good, I see you understand," Handing Karzetra a key and his dagger, Weide continued. "So here's how we're going to do this: I will leave this room and cause a distraction. You will wait five minutes before leaving this room. Your items are in the room down the hall to your left. In the next few minutes these dungeons will be a hornet's nest of activity. Do not allow yourself to be captured by anyone, no matter who they are. You must escape at all costs, even if it means shedding giant blood for real this time. Stop for nothing or no one. Do you understand me, Karzetra?"

Karzetra acknowledge him with a quick nod before motioning to the dagger he gave her.

"You're in the dungeons underneath the palace, the most heavily guarded place in Vales, and you can easily be backed into a dead end. You have two choices: allow yourself to get captured and encased in ice strengthened by wood pulp for Irinid knows how long or you can take the easy way out. Your choice."

Walking toward the door, Weide stopped to look over his shoulder. "The situation looks dire, that I do know, but remember that you still have allies in Physis. We may just be a minority but even a small crack in a glacier can bring it crumbling down. Good luck Milletian and may the Irinid deliver us through these trying times."

After Weide left the room, Karzetra looked at the key in her hand. She thought about Krug and wondered whether he saw his killer. She wondered if none of this would've happened had she been more attentive. She also thought about Zeder and wondered how he would escape from Wabst. Though the king's death meant that the barkeeper was no longer be obligated to take care of the giant teenager, once the alarms sound Vales will be covered in patrols that will make escaping difficult.

Karzetra violently shook her head to clear her thoughts before slipping the key into the cell door's keyhole and giving it a twist. Now wasn't the time to cry over past regrets and wallow in self-pity. Tonight she escapes and this Milletian would be damned if she didn't give it her all.


End file.
